


Buckets

by this_is_kelly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 05:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21156116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_kelly/pseuds/this_is_kelly
Summary: When one of Arthur's dear friends passes away before he can finish his bucket list, it's up to his friends to finish it for him.  Arthur has ten items to complete in one year, but luckily he has Merlin to help him along the way.  Each item was carefully chosen for him and pushes him out of his comfort zone, teaches him things about life, love, and adventure.





	Buckets

**Buckets **

**Part One**

…

Arthur sits in the client chair at the tattoo shop. It’s warm in here – not so warm he’s sweating, but warm enough he has to take off his jacket. He has his phone out and he’s scrolling through Twitter, not really reading anything, but going through the motions. Most of the people he follows are in politics; he likes to pretend to keep on top of current events but he usually ends up just liking what his friends tweet and ignores the rest. Sometimes he retweets Rowling, but normally he stays fairly anonymous online. Gwaine used to be the master of two-sentence quips and Twitter hasn’t been the same since he stopped posting.

Arthur’s never gotten a tattoo before and he doesn’t really want one now, but sitting next to him, sketchbook in hand, is Merlin, flipping through design ideas. It’s the third time they’ve met to work on a concept and at some point Arthur knows Merlin is either going to tell him to get lost or demand payment for all the time he’s taken up. 

Honestly, he’s surprised Merlin hasn’t discussed pricing with him yet, but maybe it’s because he did all of Gwaine’s art that he’s being especially accommodating with Arthur. He seems more amused than annoyed with Arthur’s indecisiveness.

“What do you think?” Merlin shows him another drawing, this one with major changes since the last time they spoke.

Arthur rubs a hand over his face. “I really have no idea. They’re beautiful pictures, but.”

“But?”

Arthur shrugs. He puts his phone in his pocket. This room is white, no windows. He thinks if it’s quiet enough he could hear the loud hum of the neon sign that hangs in the window that spells out _Needle Point Body Art _in thick pink cursive. He remembers coming here with Gwaine almost a year ago when he got a full sleeve, designed and inked by Merlin. Gwaine had a few other tattoos, one on each calf, one on the back of his neck, and one over his heart. Merlin did all of them. There was a strange relationship between Gwaine and Merlin. Arthur noticed it was like that with the other artists and their clients. There was reverence, respect. Some of the clients treated the artists as though they were friends, but to Arthur it often seemed similar to the way bartenders were therapists for nightly drunks. He knew Gwaine told Merlin everything – _everything _– whether Merlin wanted to hear it or not.

When Gwaine got his diagnosis, he decided to go all out and finally do the sleeve on his left arm that he’d always wanted. It was number one on his bucket list. Arthur came with him a few times, just to keep him company while Merlin worked. Merlin mostly seemed to like when they came in and would join in the conversation whenever he took a break, otherwise his full focus was on his art. It didn’t end with the sleeve, Gwaine covered himself in ink until he was too sick to come in.

“You don’t have to get a tattoo if you don’t want.”

“I do have to, though,” says Arthur. 

“Why? Gwaine isn’t here to pressure you.”

Arthur laughs and then groans. He swings his legs over the side of the chair so that his feet hit the floor.

“You know Gwaine’s bucket list?”

Merlin shrugs and nods. “Sure, didn’t everyone?”

“It had seventy-five things on it. He only made it through forty-two.”

“Uh huh, so?”

“He gave all of us parts of his list and told us to finish the list for him.”

Merlin looks thoughtful. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes as though deep in thought. “All right, then, which ones are yours?”

Arthur carries the list with him everywhere, folded neatly in his back pocket. He takes it out and hands it over. He knows everything by heart. The first piece of paper is the list, carefully torn so that only numbers 47 – 56 are there. The list is folded inside the letter Gwaine wrote him. Gwaine gave all of his best mates a piece of the list, with a similar letter.

_Dear Arthur – _

_ I’m dead. Which is really weird to think about & kind of bullshit. I always kind of thought I’d be able to beat this thing and instead it ate me alive. Literally. I kind of hope I didn’t die in hospital. That would be depressing. It’s June. I wonder how many more days I have. I know you’ll go to my funeral & be really fucking pissed that my mum refused to cremate me because we both know I want my ashes thrown across the dance floor at Purple Underground. I want random patrons to drag me home on the soles of their feet._

_ I’m giving you part of my bucket list. You’re getting more numbers than anyone else. Remember when you used to be fun? Back in school and then at uni? You were a blast. & then you got a job with your dad and stopped being cool. You need to remember what it was like to have a life. I mean, when was the last time you got laid?_

_ So yeah my dying wish is for all of you to finish my bucket list. Don’t share the list with anyone until you’ve done everything. Then you can all sit around the pub and drink mojitos in my honor and talk about the bullshit things I made you do. Do me proud._

_Love (yes I said love b/c I’m not scared of my emotions when cancer is literally killing me),_

_Gwaine_

  1. _ Do something permanent_
  2. _ Paint one wall in your bedroom RED and leave it for an entire year_
  3. _ Go to a drag show_
  4. _ Go skydiving_
  5. _ Quit your job & don’t get another one for 6 months_
  6. _ Go to the airport, pick a random airline, & buy tickets to a flight leaving exactly 2 hours from now (& no more than 3 hours)_
  7. _ Perform at a slam poetry night_
  8. _ Go skinny dipping_
  9. _ Play guitar on a street corner & find someone to sing w/ you_
  10. _ Shoplift_

Merlin looks up and arches an eyebrow. “You weren’t supposed to show me this.”

“It’s okay,” says Arthur. “I mean, you’re not in the group so I think it’s okay.”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitch. “Who else got numbers?”

“Just a few of us.” Arthur fishes his phone out of his pocket again. He finds a picture of the group, a shot a waitress had taken at their favorite restaurant two weeks before Gwaine passed. He points to each of them. “That’s Gwen, Leon, Percy, and Lance. That’s my sister Morgana. She only got two. She said she’s already finished hers.”

Merlin smirks as though holding on to a secret and looks down at the list again. “Interesting items, these.”

“Yeah,” says Arthur, his voice soft. “Kind of weird, but Gwaine always was a weird sort of bloke. Anyway.” 

“If this was Gwaine’s bucket list, then ‘do something permanent’ couldn’t, like, be about getting a tattoo, because he already had several.”

“I wouldn’t know what else to do to be permanent,” replies Arthur. “I don’t want to buy a house, I travel too much for my job. I don’t even have a proper flat. Right now I’m staying with Leon. His old flatmate got married a couple months ago and moved out. I don’t know how long I’ll be there. Houses aren’t permanent anyway.”

Merlin glances over the list one more time and then hands it back. “Leon wouldn’t let you paint the bedroom red?”

“Doubtful. I’m only hanging out there for another two weeks or so. Trying to figure out what my next work project is. It’s either Tokyo or Las Vegas.”

“What do you do?”

“I work for my father. He owns Camelot Hotel Group.”

Merlin frowns, which is not the reaction Arthur expects. He looks concerned, then the frown turns into another smirk and he shakes his head.

“What?” asks Arthur.

“We don’t know each other well enough for me to give you my opinion on your dad’s company. Maybe one day.”

“But—”

“If you really need a place to stay, I know a guy.”

“You know a guy?”

“Yeah. My best mate, Will. He and his girlfriend bought a new house. She’s pregnant so you know how that goes.”

“Luckily, I don’t,” Arthur says rather dryly.

“Ah, cheers to that. Anyway, they bought a bigger place. He put his on the market, but no one wanted it, so I told him to try to get someone to let it. He wouldn’t care if you paint a wall red.”

“Is it cheating though if I let a place only so I can paint a wall? I wouldn’t be living there.”

“Cheating? Yes, definitely.”

Arthur stands and stretches. “I’ve never cheated a day in my life. Can’t start now.” He grabs his jacket. 

Merlin stands, too. “So then tell your father you can’t leave town for a year.” He says it so simply and earnestly. Like he really believes that’s something that can happen.

“Right,” says Arthur.

“If he doesn’t let you stay in town, then you still have number fifty-one to fulfill.”

“Right,” Arthur says again. “Well, er. Thanks for.” He pauses. “What am I thanking you for? We didn’t decide on a tattoo did we?”

Merlin shakes his head.

“I’ll have to keep thinking about it.”

“You have my number,” says Merlin. “Call me. Or text me.”

Arthur stares at him.

“If you want to look at the house.”

Arthur feels his cheeks burn so he quickly nods and heads out the door. “Okay, then, bye, Merlin.”

…

“Can you believe Gwaine drank mojitos when we came here?” Leon says with a laugh. He downs the rest of his Guinness. “Gross.”

“Have you finished your bucket list?”

Leon shakes his head. “No. I have one left.”

Arthur sighs and looks around. The restaurant is crowded. They’re sitting in a both next to a large window. Their usual is sitting in the middle of the table – a Guinness for Leon, a scotch and water for Arthur, and a plate of chips piled between them. Arthur doesn’t know why they insist on calling it a restaurant when it’s a pub, and a bit of a seedy one at that. It’s not glamourous and definitely a place his father would never be caught dead at. Still, it was where they met up whenever they wanted to meet for a drink and a chat. Ever since the funeral, Percy, Lance, and Gwen are always busy. Arthur sees Morgana from time to time, but she’s usually busy, too. Leon is always around and after Gwaine, Arthur is closest to him anyway. 

“How many have you done?”

“None.”

“Seriously? We’ve had the lists for three months.”

“I know and I was in Dubai for work for three months.”

“You couldn’t do any of it in Dubai?”

Arthur shrugs. Truthfully, he ignores the list as much as he can, but he ends up reading it at least once a day, in between meetings or right before bed. It reminds him of all the things he stopped doing once he got his job. It reminds him of when he used to be happier. It reminds him of Gwaine.

Their server passes by and Leon orders them another round. 

“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo,” Arthur says.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. I talked to Merlin, Gwaine’s tattoo guy.”

“I think he was more than his ‘tattoo guy.’”

“What does that mean?”

Leon shrugs. “I think they were really close friends, actually. He came ‘round to Gwaine’s a lot. I’m surprised you never saw him there. He used to bring his boyfriend with him. Bill or Will, I think his name was.”

“Will’s his best mate.”

“No, I’m pretty sure they were dating.”

“He told me Will’s girlfriend was pregnant.”

“Then they were shagging at least,” says Leon. “Maybe they’re friends now, but last time I was with them, they were snogging on the sofa.”

Arthur considers this for a moment. He’s only mildly surprised to find out Merlin is gay.

“You should really get started on that list.”

“Why?”

Their waitress drops their drinks off, putting the beer in front of Arthur and the scotch in front of Leon. Once she’s gone to the next table, they switch the drinks.

“Gwaine gave us all things to do. Why wouldn’t you want to complete his list for him? I know you got more than the rest of us, but that should be incentive to start _now_.”

“I don’t know,” says Arthur, “some of them are really difficult. I wish I could tell you so you could help talk me through how to do them.”

“I bet you can figure it out. What if we make a pact to have it done in six months and then we’ll get together and we can read each other’s lists.”

“Can’t,” says Arthur. “One of the things on my list will take a full year.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Then I’m giving you one year and one week to get it done. If we have to share our lists without you, we will. We want to be able to celebrate Gwaine’s life by finishing his bucket list.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’”

“Yeah – the rest of us have been talking about it. You’re the wrench in our plans.”

On the way home from the pub that night, Arthur takes out his mobile phone and rings Merlin.

…

The house is small. It’s only two bedrooms, but since Arthur travels for work anyway, he supposes the size doesn’t really matter. The size is probably what kept anyone from wanting to buy the thing. It’s not particularly quaint either. It’s not a house he ever would have chosen for himself. It’s not close to anywhere he normally frequents when he’s home, but it does have a driveway for his car, which is nice. He’s tired of parking on the street in front of Leon’s and storing it at his father’s London hotel when he’s out of town. The inside is fairly outdated, old, and Arthur is pretty sure the oven hasn’t been used in at least ten years. 

But again – he’s rarely home anyway so none of this should matter to him. Besides, he tends to live on takeaway and restaurants. As long as the plumbing and heating work, that’s all that really matters. 

From the outside, it looks mostly like a box. Red brick, a window on either side of the front door which is painted green. Arthur isn’t sure how he feels about green, but assuming Will doesn’t care about a red bedroom wall, he probably won’t care about changing the door color either. There’s some ivy growing up one side of the house, which will also have to change, and the gutters need a good sweeping out. The drive in front looks rather new, and there’s a flower bed on either side of the front steps. The flowers can stay, maybe, with a bit of cleaning up and ripping up of the weeds. There’s a chimney, but Arthur has never tended a fire in his life, so he’s unsure how one would even go about buying wood during winter. Still, not a bad feature for a small little cottage-looking home.

“Both bedrooms are the same size,” says Merlin. He’s leaning against the door frame of one of the rooms, arms crossed. He has on dark jeans and plain white shirt, long-sleeved with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There’s a tattoo poking out from underneath and Arthur keeps eyeing it, wondering what it is. There’s also a dark smudge on his cheek, which Merlin says is charcoal; he was working on some drawings when he had to leave to meet Arthur at the house. He looks like an artist, whimsical and carefree, but he lacks the edge of what Arthur always expected a tattoo artist to have. “Only one loo. I suppose it may not be as posh as you’re used to. What, with staying at fancy Camelot hotels and all.”

Arthur goes to the large window and looks out. This room looks out into the small back garden which is overgrown and in need of a good weeding. There’s a fence for privacy and a small concrete pad which might be nice with an outdoor table and some wine. If he knew anyone who was into that sort of thing. 

“There’s a lose plank back there,” says Merlin. “Will’s dog used to get out all the time and go to the neighbor’s. Suppose you won’t have that problem. I can’t imagine you with an animal.”

“No. They need too much minding.”

“You must be so lonely all the time. No home, no pets.”

“I have friends.”

“That you see every three to four months?” asks Merlin.

“Being a project manager is a busy job.”

“Mmm,” replies Merlin noncommittedly. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’d paint that wall red.” 

Arthur turns back around; Merlin nods towards the wall opposite the window. 

“It gets a lot of light in the afternoon, so you don’t have to worry about being blinded early in the morning and then the sun is set by the time you’re ready for bed.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I used to live here,” Merlin says simply with a small shrug. “For about two years.”

“Oh. With Will?”

“I mean, yeah. This was his house.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant _with _Will. As his boyfriend.”

“Yep.”

“And now he’s moved out because his girlfriend is pregnant.”

“Yep.”

“It seems there’s more to that story.”

“It’s not, like, particularly interesting or anything.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

Merlin crosses the room and looks out the window. “I think you’ll appreciate this view. You’re posh. Hire a gardener and get some flowers out there.”

Arthur knows when a topic is off-limits, so he turns his attention back outside. “All right. Call Will then. See what he’ll take for a year’s lease.”

“Good choice. Hold on, I’ll call him now.”

“Wait. Tell him I need it as soon as possible. The sooner I can paint the wall, the better.”

Merlin nods and leaves the room. 

Arthur sits on the hardwood floor and leans back against the wall facing the window. Behind the fence is another house, but positioned in such a way that he can really only see the roof. The sun is lowering and setting the sky on fire in bright oranges. The rooftop will soon swallow it up. It’s nicer than any view Arthur has had before. He’s been on balconies overlooking blue oceans, and while beautiful, it was impersonal. This is something that could be his, something for no one else. It’s something he’s only recently beginning to understand that he’s missed, having his own place. He finished school and went straight to university. Most of his friends took a gap year, but he thought that would be a waste of time. Instead he took classes at uni to get his degree. All the friends he made were a year older than him, except for Gwaine who managed to find him as soon as his own gap year was finished. 

Gwaine was usually able to get Arthur to leave his flat, to come out to the pubs and clubs, get drunk enough to dance and snog strangers. Leon means well, but when Arthur spends time with him, they usually go for a pint and a scotch, and talk about random nothingness. Less often, Arthur sees Lance, but again, nothingness. The occasional chat about politics will arise and get Leon going off on a tangent or about athletics and Lance will start spouting statistics about football or rugby players. But Gwaine – Gwaine was able to get Arthur to tell secrets one minute and then the next take shots of chilled vodka off the stomach of a really fit girl in a club after licking salt off the neck of her really fit boyfriend. Gwaine evoked that in people, that trust to be able to lose all ambition. Arthur wants to know that again.

“Will said he can bring the paperwork over tonight if you want to sign,” says Merlin, walking back into the room. “Uh, what’re you doing on the floor?”

“Just thinking about Gwaine. You know, I never would have let a house if he hadn’t given me that bucket list.”

“I know. How does it feel?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have any furniture. I don’t even own a mattress.”

“Seriously? You need a mattress. What will all the girls you pull think if they come here and it’s empty?”

Merlin says it so carefully that Arthur wonders if he’s purposefully fishing for information, but it makes him laughs. “I can’t imagine anything I’ve said that you make you think all I do is find random girls to shag on the nightly.”

Merlin shrugs. “You’re fit. Kind of thought—”

Arthur shakes his head. “No.”

Merlin narrows his eyes and leans again the doorframe again. “No to the random shags or no to the random _girls_?”

“Just no,” repeats Arthur. He stands. “How long until Will comes over? I might as well find some furniture if it’s going to be a minute.”

…

Merlin tags along as Arthur goes to three different furniture stores. Arthur pays extra to have everything delivered next available day. Leon comes over with a bottle of scotch and a case of beer a few days later, an excuse to come admire the house.

“I’m surprised at how quaint this place is.”

Arthur snorts. “It’s not quaint at all, but that’s a very nice way of you to say small.”

“I mean. You usually stay in twelve-star hotels so this seems like a huge step down.”

“There’s no such thing as twelve-star.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “I’m impressed though. I never thought you’d get a place of your own. Was this one of the items on the bucket list? You can tell me.”

“Specifically, no. Inadvertently, yes.”

A week later, Arthur comes home with a can of red paint. He moves his new bed to the center of the room. He looks at the paint and the brush he bought and then at the wall. He feels like he’s missing something important. He takes out his mobile and rings Leon and then Lance; neither of them answer. There’s another choice, but he hesitates. Merlin isn’t really a friend. Friend_ly_, yes. Friend, no. But they’ve had a couple of deep conversations, far more intimate than he has with most of his other friends. So maybe they are friends after all. 

“Ah, fuck it,” Arthur mumbles and dials him. 

When Merlin answers, he sounds like confused. “Hello?”

“Hey, question.”

“Oh God.”

“I – _oh god_? Why do you already sound exasperated with me?”

“Because you’re exhausting.”

Arthur frowns. “No, I’m not.”

“What’s your question?”

“Wait—”

“What’s your question?” Merlin repeats, this time a little louder.

“I bought red paint.”

“That’s great! That’s not a question, though.”

For a brief moment, Arthur imagines being able to reach through the phone and strangle Merlin. “I got the paint and a brush. But … I don’t want to accidentally paint the other walls or the ceiling or anything of the sort.”

“That’s why you buy painters tape.”

“Ah,” says Arthur. _Shit_, he thinks.

“I’m guessing you didn’t buy tape or any sort of drop cloth to use so that paint doesn’t get on the floors.”

“Er.”

“You’re so helpless.”

“I am not—”

“Luckily I’m already at the store and I’ve already added painters tape to my basket. I’ll be there in thirty.”

When Merlin knocks on the front door forty-five minutes later, Arthur is on his second beer. He’s embarrassed he didn’t know about the tape – he’s seen countless painters working on hotel rooms at the various resorts he’s stayed in while working for his father. He should have realized but he didn’t and now here Merlin is, looking chipper and amused.

“Hi,” says Arthur. “Want a beer?”

“I only came by to drop off the tape.” Merlin holds up his wrist where he’s wearing the roll of blue tape.

“Oh. Of course. I’m sure you had plans. It’s a Saturday night.”

“I have plans for later. I was picking up caulk for my shower when you called. I’m going to Bearenstein’s to meet up with some mates, but I can stay for a bit. I’ll help you tape your wall and then you’ll be all set to paint. What kind of beer do you have?”

But Merlin is already walking into the kitchen before Arthur even has the chance to answer. 

“What’s Bearenstein’s?” asks Arthur.

“You don’t get out much, do you? Is this _American _beer? Gross. Where’s the good shit?”

“I have Italian beer.” Arthur shrugs when Merlin rolls his eyes at him. “Sorry, I usually drink scotch but Leon brought this over. And I get out. Sometimes.”

“Let me guess. You’re usually too busy working to have a life. You’ve been back in town for, what, a month now? What living have you done? Let a house?”

“Being a project manager for a major hotel chain is busy. I don’t have time—”

“Bearenstein’s is a gay club. I have a mate who has a thing for, like, big men. He tags along when I want to go out, so I’ll indulge him from time to time.” Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze and arches an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You don’t get the play on words.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Merlin sighs and grabs the bottle opener off the countertop. He pops the top off and takes a long gulp. “All right, to your bedroom.” He passes by Arthur and goes straight to the bedroom.

Arthur follows and enters his room behind Merlin. He watches as Merlin studies the wall and the floor. Merlin puts the beer bottle to his lips and drinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. When the bottle is empty, he hands it to Arthur and begins to tape off the wall and the floorboards. 

“Do you paint a lot of rooms?” Arthur asks lamely.

“I painted this house when I first moved in,” says Merlin. “Every room except the bathroom.” 

“Is it weird being back?”

Merlin shrugs. He crouches on his knees and carefully tapes along the floorboard. “It was so long ago and this place is, you know, just a house. I didn’t leave on bad terms. I mean, I didn’t leave on good terms, but that’s kind of how break-ups go, right?”

“Right,” says Arthur, but he’s never had a good break-up so he isn’t really sure what he’s agreeing to. “Are you hungry? I was going to order takeaway.”

“Sure. I’ll eat anything.” Merlin turns and looks at Arthur. “Is this a ploy to get me to actually paint your wall, too?”

“No, I can do that. But you did a brilliant job on the rest of the house.”

“You know,” says Merlin, turning back to the tape, “Gwaine helped me paint this house.”

“Really?”

“Get me another beer and order food and I’ll tell you about it.”

Arthur goes into his kitchen. He throws the empty bottle away and grabs two more beers from the fridge. He searches on his phone for the nearest delivery and dials them. He orders orange chicken, sesame chicken, and crab Rangoon’s. When he enters his bedroom again, Merlin is taking the lid off the paint and carefully setting it down. He has on two different colored socks.

“Why’d you take your shoes off?”

“In case there’s an accident,” Merlin replies. “I don’t want paint on my boots.” He takes the brush and dips it into the paint. “You didn’t get any paint rollers, so this is going to take a while.”

“Tell me about painting with Gwaine.” Arthur sits on the edge of his bed, which is now in the center of the room. Merlin’s back is to him, but something in the slight change of his body language tells Arthur that he’s smiling.

“Gwaine and I met at Time Out, which is no longer a thing, but seven, eight years ago it was _the_place to go. For gay people, I mean.”

“Pause right there,” says Arthur. His brain is struggling to compute what Merlin just said. “Gwaine wasn’t gay.”

“He wasn’t straight,” Merlin says simply. “He was with another mate of yours. Er, Leon, I think.”

“_Leon_?” Arthur feels as though his entire world is being turned upside and shaken around.

“Leon was his wingman that night. He tried to pull me – Gwaine that is, not Leon – but he’s not really my type and I had a boyfriend. We got to talking and he found out I was apprenticing at a tattoo shop near the university so he came to see me the next day. First time he got a tattoo. It was kind of the time I was moving into here and he offered to help me paint.”

“Gwaine tried to pull you. That’s.” Arthur pauses. “That’s something right there.” He pauses again. “Wait a tick – if you were moving into here, then he was trying to pull you when you were moving in with your boyfriend.”

“Yep.”

“Was Will not at the club with you?”

“No, he doesn’t really like that sort of thing. Homebody, him. He was okay if I wanted to go, though. Drink a little, dance a little.” Merlin shrugs. “Will wasn’t the going-out sort. He preferred to stay home usually.”

“And that’s not something you’re into?”

“It’s all right sometimes, but I always wanted to go on adventures and he never did. Like, I keep my passport with me at all times because you never really know when you might get a chance to run away for a while.”

“When was the last time you ran away?”

“Went to Paris last January.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you were such good friends with Gwaine,” says Arthur. There’s a heavy feeling in the middle of his chest. “Leon mentioned you’d been over to his flat a lot with Will.”

“To his flat, yes. With Will? Maybe once or twice.” Merlin continues to paint the wall. “I never saw you at any of his parties, though.”

“I’m only in London three to four months a year.”

“What a lonely life,” says Merlin. He rotates his shoulder as though it hurts. “You can take over. I did all the outlines. You can paint the middle. Don’t get too much paint on the brush or it’ll drip.”

Arthur stands. He puts his beer on the bedside table and takes the brush. “If you had a bucket list, what would be on it?”

Merlin lounges on Arthur’s bed. He plays with the label on his beer bottle, seemingly lost in thought. “Well,” he says slowly, “I’ve always wanted to own my own tattoo shop, I guess. And to play the piano. And to see the Northern Lights in Alaska. If you don’t paint, it’s never going to get done.”

“Right.” Arthur turns and begins to paint the center of the wall. “Those are all really different sorts of things. Why your own tattoo shop?”

“I think it would be cool. I wouldn’t have to play by anyone else’s rules.”

“Makes sense. So then why Alaska? You could see the lights from Iceland or Norway. They’re a lot closer.”

“I’ve never been to North America. The first pictures I ever saw of the Northern Lights were taken in Fairbanks. I know there’s places in Canada, which is okay, but Alaska is the ultimate dream.”

“So what about the piano?”

“I like music. I’ve never learned to play anything. I sing all the time to the radio in my car. Lots of Spice Girls and Kylie Minogue on my karaoke playlists.”

Arthur laughs. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I play the piano.”

“Is that an offer for lessons?”

“I don’t play much anymore. When I’m home between projects. I, er, actually play the guitar, too.” Arthur turns slightly to chance a look at Merlin. 

Merlin sits up as though very intrigued. “Do you really? Where is it?”

Arthur nods towards the other side of the room where a black guitar case is leaned against the wall next to the window. 

“Holy shit, I didn’t even notice when I walked in. You really play that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you any good?”

Arthur shrugs. “I’m decent.”

“You suddenly got a lot more interesting.”

“Oh. I feel like I should be insulted right now.”

“Don’t be.” Merlin waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll explore this guitar thing when you’re done painting that bloody wall. What would be on your bucket list?”

Arthur turns around again and focuses on the wall. “I’m not sure.”

“Don’t bullshit me. I just answered, now it’s your turn.”

There’s only a short list of things Arthur wants in life. He’s never talked about anything he’s wanted before and he’s not sure his mouth will even work long enough to get the words out.

“You have to play the game,” says Merlin.

“Well,” Arthur slowly begins, “I’d like to publish something.”

“Publish what?” asks Merlin eagerly.

“A book maybe. I like to write. I like stories. I like to read.”

“That’s amazing! Go on, what else is on your list?”

Arthur thinks for a moment. “It’s not interesting,” he says, “I just … well. I want to get married and be a dad.”

Merlin is quiet for a moment. Arthur resists the urge to turn around and look at him; he isn’t sure he wants to see the expression on Merlin’s face.

“Getting married and being a dad is on your bucket list?” says Merlin. “Those are such normal things.”

“Perhaps for some. My mom died when I was young. My father was buried in work so nannies raised us for a couple of years and then we were on our own. I want to give someone a childhood like I never had. I think about it sometimes. What it would be like to have kids. At least one.”

“That’s bloody fantastic,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur glances over his shoulder. Merlin is watching him. 

“I think we need more beer,” says Merlin. 

A loud knock from the front of the house gives Arthur a start.

“Brilliant,” says Merlin. He jumps off the bed with a grin. “Food.”

…

Six beers later, Merlin catches a cab to take him to the club where he’s meeting up with his friends. He’s left Arthur a note with the name of a drag show to go see and the name of a client of his who flies the plane for a sky diving company. 

Arthur cleans up the paint and tears off the tape before pushing his bed back towards the wall. He studies the way it changes the room; the other three walls are a light gray. The red doesn’t necessarily make him feel differently about anything, except maybe the red wasn’t so much the point as leaving it for an entire year.

Arthur knows he needs to keep hacking away at the bucket list, but his father has assigned him to a hotel in Tokyo. It’s in a country he’s never been to, but then again, he doesn’t really care about other countries; he never gets to see much of them anyway. He should be excited for Japan. He likes Japanese food and he’s seen a few Japanese films. 

The day he decides to ask his father to head up some local projects instead of international, he dresses carefully. He doesn’t want there to be a hair out of place, or an unnecessary wrinkle. His father is the kind of man who notices these things. He throws on a jacket because this November has been a little colder than normal and he doesn’t want his father questioning his ability to dress appropriately for the weather.

His father’s office is on the tenth floor of the Camelot Tintagel Hotel. It’s a five-star hotel, with two floors of suites and a penthouse that takes up almost the entirety of the top floor. For most of Arthur’s teenage years, they lived in the penthouse, but once he was old enough to go to university, he moved out into his own flat. It wasn’t too long after receiving his degree that he started getting projects all over the world. It’s been six years since he left school and he’s barely had a real home since. Going to Tintagel always brings up a lot of emotions, stirs something in his gut. Arthur takes a handful of antacid and a prescription pain killer before leaving his new house.

The doorman greets him by name. It’s not someone he recognizes, but Arthur knows his father gives all his employees pictures of him so they’ll know when he comes around. He uses his keycard for tenth floor access and stretches in the elevator, trying to psych himself up for whatever is about to happen.

He’s surprised to see Morgana sitting at the desk in front of their father’s office. Her brown hair is in soft curls down her back and he’s sure she just got extensions put in. When she stands, Arthur sees her navy pencil skirt and white button-down blouse. She looks professional, which concerns him.

“Morgana,” he says, “what the hell?”

She rolls her eyes and gives him a hug. “Dad insists I enter into the family business, but I could give fuck-all about hotels so, you know, here I am.”

“You’re a secretary?”

“No, Arthur, dear, I’m an executive assistant.” 

“Is that different?”

Morgana rolls her eyes and sits back down. “I hate you. Go on in, he should be alone.”

Arthur claps her on the shoulder as he passes. He knocks on his father’s office door before opening it and stepping inside. It’s garishly large with a sofa and two wingback chairs surrounding a hand-carved table. A large buffet houses several decanters and rocks glasses. The desk itself is massive and whenever Arthur is here, it never has more than a mug of tea, a single file folder, and the large iMac sitting on top. Where his father hides the rest of his papers and folders is a mystery Arthur has never been able to solve.

“Son.”

That’s the standard greeting of Uther Pendragon. Son. Never a _hello _or _how are you_, but one word, _Son_.

“Hi, Dad.”

“What brings you here? Do you have questions about Tokyo? Did they send over the specs?”

“Yes.”

“Have a seat.”

Arthur glances at the chairs in front of his father’s desk. “No, thanks,” he says slowly. “Uh, listen, Dad, I have a request.”

Uther clasps his hands together and rests them on the top of his desk. He raises his eyebrows as though inviting Arthur to continue.

“I was hoping to give Tokyo to someone else.”

“Heard about the new Honolulu build, did you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t – Honolulu?” Arthur shakes his head. He could use some sunlight, but that’s not what he’s here for. “No, I actually was hoping to stay here for a while. In London.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been traveling for years now and while it’s been nice – and I think I do a good job – I need a break. I miss out on a lot of stuff by never being home and I’d kind of like to see what being home looks like for a while.”

Uther’s mouth is a thin line. His eyes stare right at Arthur as though daring him to look away. “No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Tokyo needs you.”

“You have other project managers—”

“You’re the best.”

“I want a change.”

“What, pray tell, are you going to do if you spend time in London? Do you have a girlfriend that you want see more of?”

“You know I don’t,” Arthur grounds out.

“Then there’s nothing you need to stay here for.”

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Dad—”

“If you want me to continue to sign your paychecks, then you will be in Tokyo in two weeks. You have less than three-hundred hours to get your shit together.”

“But Dad—”

“Until you have a reason to stay here, you will do your job as I, your employer, tell you to do.”

“Right.” Arthur clears his throat. “We’ll talk later.” He turns and leaves the office. He doesn’t bother slamming the door; he knows it won’t do any good anyway.

…

Leon looks around the club. All the lights are red, which gives Arthur a little bit of a headache, but the drinks they just ordered will help dull the pain.

“This is the first drag show I’ve ever been to,” Leon says. “You think all these people assume we’re a couple?”

“Why? Because you’re in a gay club?”

“Is it a gay club though? Just because there’s a drag show?”

Arthur shrugs. “I’ve never been to a drag show, so I really wouldn’t know.”

Leon gasps and turns quickly to Arthur. “Is that hot girl really a bloke? The one who just got on stage?”

“I think so.”

“Does it make me gay that I think she’s hot?”

“I think if she identifies as a girl then it still makes you straight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah. I’m not really an expert on sexual identity crises when you add in gender fluidity into the mix.”

“This is wild.” Leon grins. “Don’t tell your sister.”

Arthur blinks. “Don’t tell my – what do you mean don’t tell my sister?”

“Nothing, nothing. Ah, drinks, thank god. You may want to bring us another round.”

Arthur watches the waitress (waiter?) walk away and gulps down his entire drink.

“I told my dad yesterday I didn’t want to go to Tokyo.”

“And?”

“He said I don’t have a good enough reason to stay in London. If there was a girl then maybe.” Arthur shrugs. “His expectations of me are rather high. I don’t think I want to pretend to live up to them anymore.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“Book a first class ticket to Japan, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit,” Leon says dryly. 

When his second drink comes, Arthur downs it just as quickly as the first. His stomach has never settled since going to see his father and he isn’t sure how to make himself feel better. He bought a television, something he hasn’t owned in years, and a blu-ray player. He picked out several films and watched four of them last night. He feels like he’s catching up on years that he’s lost by never being around to participate in his own life. Although now he has to actually admit he doesn’t really like comic book movies; he’s afraid Leon may disown him for thinking Iron Man is lame.

The girl who had walked onto the stage is now singing, or lip syncing. Arthur isn’t sure which. Either way, she looks like a natural. She’s sexy and confident, and Arthur can definitely see why Leon is having a mini-sexual-crisis. Which reminds him—

“What did you mean, don’t tell my sister?” Arthur asks again.

Leon grins around his beer bottle. “Cheers, mate. Hey, look, it’s Merlin.”

Arthur whirls around in his seat to look towards the door. He sees Merlin walking in with another man. He looks good – Merlin, that is – wearing dark jeans and boots, a green jacket and a blue shirt. He looks as though maybe he’s gotten a haircut in the few days since he’s seen him, which make his ears stick out a little more than usual, but it’s good. Merlin looks good.

Merlin spots them and a sly grin stretches his mouth. He whispers into his friend’s ear and they both make their way to the table. Merlin sits in the empty seat next to Arthur while his friend stands behind him.

“We won’t intrude on your date,” says Merlin. 

The song ends and everyone claps and whistles. Merlin puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles louder than the rest. He laughs at the expression on Arthur’s face and then shakes his head.

“Sorry. I like to show my support. Anyway, I won’t intrude, but I wanted to say hello.”

“It’s not a date,” says Leon. “Does it look like we’re on a date?”

“You’re both really fit,” Merlin’s friend says, “so a little bit.”

Leon preens. “Thanks.”

Arthur rolls his eyes.

“I’ve met you before,” says Merlin. “At Gwaine’s? Leon?”

“Good memory. I recognized you, too. Good to see you, mate.”

“You too.” To Arthur, he says, “I’m glad you’re here, though. Striking something else off that bucket list, yeah?”

“You and your date can join us if you like,” says Leon. “I can find us another chair.”

“Oh, sweetie, this isn’t a date. Merlin drove me. I perform in an hour and I have to get ready. He helps me with my makeup when my boyfriend is working.”

Merlin shrugs. “Art is art,” he says.

“So you’re single,” says Leon.

Merlin looks slightly taken aback. “Yes, but aren’t you straight?”

Leon sweeps his arm out as though asking Merlin to take in the entire room. “Who knows? Some of these women are beautiful and I’m pretty sure they aren’t really women.”

“I’m pretty sure some of them are,” says Merlin, “at least on the inside.”

“And some of us just like the pretty clothes and makeup, but still want to keep all our bits,” says Merlin’s friend.

Leon shrugs. “See? How am I even supposed to know? But I’m seeing someone. It’s new, so we probably should never mention any of this again.”

“Jesus,” mumbles Arthur. “How many have you had?”

“This is my fourth. Hey, with some lipstick, you might make a beautiful girl, too.” Leon shrugs. “You never know.”

“Cut him off,” Merlin laughs. “Anyway, we got to go, but I’m glad you’re here. Experiencing something new. Text me later and tell me what you think of the show.” He juts his thumb out, motioning towards his friend. “Her name is Olive D. Ballz.”

Leon snorts into his beer. Arthur looks blankly at Merlin.

“Olive D. Ballz,” he repeats. Then, “I really should help you get out more. Come on, Olive, let’s let Leon explain the subtle nuances of drag queen names to Arthur.”

Arthur watches Merlin and his friend walk to the side of the stage and through a door. A bouncer stands in front of it, but clearly he knows Merlin because they shake hands before the door closes.

“If you’re sleeping with my sister, we really need to have a conversation about your intentions when we’re not both drunk.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.”

“But you’re going to.”

Leon shrugs. “Yeah, I kind of want to. She’s so fit. She told me to keep it a secret, but you know how I am when I start drinking. It’s like magic truth serum or something. What about you and Merlin?”

“What about it?”

“You’ve been hanging out with him.”

“He helped me get the house and helped me paint a wall. I’d hardly call that hanging out.”

“He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“You heard his friend – I’m fit.”

Leon ignores that. “He told you to text him.”

“Because he recommended this place.”

“I will bet you a bottle of 1937 Macallan that when you text him tonight, he’ll text you back within ten minutes and won’t stop texting you until you tell him goodnight.”

“That’s a thirty-thousand-pound bottle of scotch. You don’t have that kind of money.”

“I only make bets like that if I know I’m going to win.”

“And if you win? What do you get?”

“You can’t punch me for sleeping with your sister. But I get to see the texts.”

“If you’re right, and I’m not saying you are, I wouldn’t want to lead him on.”

“First of all, you _don’t _think I’m right, so whether you lead him on should be irrelevant. Second of all, you’re not an arsehole so you’ll know how to keep it friendly. So do we have a bet?”

Arthur holds out his hand. “Deal.”

…

The drag show is only a few blocks from Arthur’s house so they walk back instead of getting a cab. It’s rather cold, maybe four or five degrees. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk down the sidewalk. 

Once inside his house they keep their jackets on while the heating kicks in. Leon lounges on the sofa, waiting for Arthur to pull out his mobile. He pats the cushion next to him.

“No way,” says Arthur. “I don’t trust you not to steal my phone.” He sits down on the other side of the sofa as far away from Leon as he can get.

He takes out his phone and starts a new message to Merlin. He thinks for a moment before thumbing out, _Thanks for recommending that place. It was actually more more fun than I thought._ He presses send and then turns the phone around so Leon can read it. When he looks back down at the screen, three dots have already appeared. 

“Mother fucker,” he mutters.

“He’s writing back isn’t he?” asks Leon. He pumps a fist in the air. “I knew it. I’m so gonna win this bet.”

_I’m glad you liked it. Did Leon have fun too?_

“He wants to know if you had fun.”

Leon laughs. “See, he’s continuing the conversation. He wants you.”

“Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he likes me.”

“No, but being gay certainly helps. Why aren’t you responding?”

Arthur sighs and goes back to his mobile. _Yes_, he thumbs.

_If you ever want to go back, let me know. I’m there a couple nights a month for Olive’s makeup. _

“He wrote back didn’t he?” Leon grins. “Looks like I’m going to win.”

“Call a cab,” says Arthur. “I’m going to bed.”

“You’re such a sore loser. I expect all screencaps by the time I wake up tomorrow. Just so I can bask in my winner’s glory.”

“Good night, Leon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Leon. He stands and holds out a hand to Arthur. They shake which turns into a back-slapping hug. “You know I don’t care, right?”

“Care about what?”

“About Merlin.”

Arthur’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Leon sighs. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re actually daft or just a really good actor.”

The cab shows up a few minutes later and Arthur locks his door and turns out the lights in his front room. He changes into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and climbs under the covers. He keeps the lamp next to his bed on and checks his phone. Merlin hasn’t texted, but Arthur realizes he hasn’t responded yet.

_It was fun, but I don’t know if I’ll make it a repeat. It’s not my usual scene._

_ What is your scene then?_

Arthur thinks. He has no idea. _Regular pubs, I guess. _

_ OK but when you’re in some exotic country where do you go for fun?_

_ I don’t. I’m usually too busy with work. Sometimes the other investors will take me out or I’ll take them out but it’s business._

_ You lead a boring life._

_ I know._

_ Let me help you change it._

_ You already are._

Arthur takes in a deep breath and drops his phone next to him. He thinks he’s just crossed a line. He doesn’t want to lead Merlin on and these texts – fuck it, Leon is right. Merlin might actually be into him. He likes Merlin, he likes being friends with him, and he wants to see him again, but he’s not here for a relationship. That’s not what he wants. It’s not.

He picks up his phone. _Helping me with this bucket list is already making my life more interesting. You can come with me to sky dive._

_Nope. My feet stay on the ground or inside an airplane. I don’t jump out of them._

_ Even though it’s on my bucket list?_

_ There is nothing you could give me that would make me change my mind._

_ I’m sure that’s not true. I hope Olive’s performance was a success. I have to get up early tomorrow so I’m heading to bed._

Merlin responds with a selfie of him and Olive. Arthur is shocked at the transformation. The makeup is perfect and has a definite Jessica Rabbit feel to it.

_I had no idea you were so talented. She looks great._

_ Thank you. I’m leaving the club now myself. I agreed to an eight a.m. tattoo tomorrow. Stupid me._

_ Good night._

_ Night_.

Arthur turns off his lamp and lays in the dark. He grabs his phone one last time and opens up a message to Leon. _I may not punch you for dating my sister, but I’ll punch you if you are a tit to her. Don’t knock her up._

…

Arthur packs his bag the next day for Tokyo. He has a few more days before he has to leave, but he likes to get a head start on these sorts of trips. He’s usually gone for so long that he has to carefully plan everything he’s going to take. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving this weird little house for so long, especially since he only signed the lease papers a couple weeks ago. He knows that quitting his job is on the bucket list, but that’s just insane. He’s never been stagnant. He didn’t take a gap year and instead went straight to university and then immediately got a job. The idea of quitting makes him nauseous – what would he do with all his free time?

He puts on his coat and goes to the store to pick up some things for dinner. It’s been unseasonably cold the last week and it’s only getting colder. Thankfully it rarely ever snows in London, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about dealing with that. It’s at least freezing outside, maybe one or two degrees, but nevertheless colder than he really cares to be. He throws a bag of coffee into his basket and a container of cream. He looks around for something easy to make for dinner, but it all looks too complicated so he ends up grabbing some bread and cheese and hummus. His Netflix queue is getting longer by the day so he might as well try to get through some of it before drowning in work in Tokyo.

By the time he gets back home, his fingers are icicles and before he puts anything away, he goes to adjust the heating.

“Oh fucking hell,” he snaps. His heat is not working. The thermostat tells him it’s still fifty degrees in the house, but he knows that will dip once the sun goes down. 

His phone is somewhere in one of his coat pockets and when he finally finds it, he calls Will. He’s only had one other conversation with him, back when he signed the lease papers, and he gets rather cross when Will tells him he’ll find someone to come out tomorrow.

“No, you need to find someone to come out tonight. Part of having a lease agreement is that when things like heating break, you fix it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me call you back.”

Arthur goes into his kitchen and ends up making coffee just to stay warm. He changes out of his button-down and jeans and into soft flannel pajama bottoms and two sweatshirts. He has thick socks somewhere to keep his feet warm and he digs an oversized blanket out of one of his boxes that he has never bothered to unpack. 

Will doesn’t call back for over an hour and he sounds rather pathetic when he does.

“Look, mate, I called fourteen different numbers I found on Google. There’s a bloke who can come out tomorrow morning at eight. That’s the best I got. My girlfriend says if you’re that miserable then we’ll pay for you to hole up in a hotel.”

Part of him wants to say _hell yes_, but part of him doesn’t want to leave his house. He’ll spend the next six months living out of hotels.

“I’ll stay here and suffer,” Arthur says with a sigh. “I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.”

Arthur pulls his blanket around his shoulders and turns on his television. If he’s going to have to suffer through a night without heat he might as well watch something that’s going to make him laugh. He turns on _Santa Clarita Diet _and makes it through two episodes when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

Merlin is on the other side with a bag in either hand. He has a scarf around his neck and a dark blue puffer jacket. 

“I was definitely not expecting to see you tonight,” Arthur says, surprised.

“Will called me and asked if I’d drop off my electric blanket. I think he’s afraid you’re going to sue him for letting the heater break.”

Arthur rolls his eyes but steps aside to let Merlin in. He shuts the door behind him. Merlin walks into the lounge and takes in the discarded blanket, coffee mug, and paused television.

“Wild night, looks like.”

“We can’t all be makeup artists for drag queens every night.”

Merlin puts the bags on the sofa and takes an electric blanket out of one. He plugs it into the wall outlet and turns it on.

“It’s cold as fuck in here,” he says.

“I’m aware.”

“Why aren’t you staying at a hotel?”

“I don’t actually like hotels.”

Merlin cocks his head to the side ever so slightly. “Hmm,” he hums, a slight wonderment to the sound. “I also brought a bottle of rum because, like, rum always warms me up.”

“I don’t think I have anything to put rum in.”

Merlin takes out a box of coconut water. “This. Don’t give me that look. It’s delicious.” He takes off his coat and then shivers. 

“Are you staying?”

“Oh, uh – I—”

“No, no,” says Arthur, taking a step forward. “Please do. I’m bored anyway. Wait, were you asleep when Will called you?” It’s the first time Arthur’s paid any attention to what Merlin’s wearing. He has trainers on his feet, but he’s wearing what looks like pajamas and his hair is sticking up in the back as though he was laying on it.

“A power nap,” says Merlin. “I’m getting drinking glasses. What’s for dinner?”

“Hummus?” offers Arthur.

Merlin lets out a tragic-sounding sigh. “How about you order pizza and I pour drinks and we try to pretend this place isn’t the goddamn north pole?”

Arthur orders while Merlin pours. The television sits on pause while they down the first glassfuls. 

“Have you checked anything else off that bucket list?” Merlin asks.

“Just the drag show.”

“No sky diving today?”

Arthur shakes his head.

“No skinny dipping?”

Arthur shakes his head again.

“That one’s a shame.”

“Oh, please.”

Merlin shrugs. “Those things are easy. What about quitting your job?”

Arthur shakes his head a third time. “I don’t know that I can do it.”

“Do you love it or something?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Arthur considers this. “I was brought-up knowing I would go into the family business one day. It’s always been hotels. My great-grandfather started the company. His son took over, then my father took over. My sister, bless her, doesn’t have a mind for business. So that leaves me. When my dad retires or dies, the company will go to me.”

“If you owned the company, you could, like, make it better.”

“What do you mean?” asks Arthur. “It’s the single most successful hotel group in the world.”

“I meant philanthropically.”

Arthur blinks. “Philanthropically,” he repeats.

“Should I get a dictionary for you?”

“Don’t be cheeky,” says Arthur. He sits up straight. “My father gives money to charity.”

“I know that. Doesn’t mean they’re good charities.”

“I don’t—” Arthur shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“The League of Christian Families. The Family Foundation.”

“He’s very traditional,” says Arthur. “The Family Foundation is there to support families who want to adopt.”

“Straight families,” says Merlin. “Do you have a computer?”

“Er, sure.” Arthur gets up and goes into his bedroom. He gets his laptop out of the computer bag next to his bed. He brings it back and hands it to Merlin. 

“I need your password,” says Merlin with smirk.

“Oh, right.”

Merlin waits for the desktop to pull up before opening Safari and pulling up the webpages for both organizations. He lets Arthur read through the _About Us _sections where it subtly, but also very clearly, advocates against homosexuality. Arthur is taken aback. He wonders if his father realizes what his money is going towards.

“I’m assuming if you were in charge of the Camelot Hotel Group you wouldn’t any of the profits being donated to these things.”

“No. That’s – no.” He’s at a loss for words. He chances a glance at Merlin who looks sympathetic and a little bit sad.

“You should drink more. It’ll help take the shock away.” Merlin tops off Arthur’s cup. “I would think it would be easier to quit your job knowing your father donates to groups who hate you.”

“What do you mean?” asks Arthur curiously.

“Because you’re gay,” says Merlin.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I am?”

Merlin falters. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything to make you think I’m gay. I can be disturbed at the types of so-called charities my father is donating to without being gay. I think that would make me a decent human being, right?”

“I mean,” says Merlin. “Sure.” He starts as someone loudly knocks on the front door.

“Saved by the bell,” says Arthur, getting up.

“Saved by the knock,” grumbles Merlin. 

Arthur pays for the pizza and brings the hot carboard box back into the living room. He sets it down on the table and opens it up. It smells delicious, but mostly it smells _hot_and considering how cold the inside of the house is, it’s exactly what Arthur needs right now. 

“Okay,” says Merlin, “but have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Arthur smirks. “Jesus, you won’t let this go, will you?”

“Because you’re avoiding the topic. Which makes me wonder if you’re gay and you don’t want to admit it, or you’re straight, but mean and toying with me right now and enjoying it. Or you’re gay _and _mean.”

“Let me ask you this. Why do you think I’m gay in the first place?”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, but sits there, slack jawed, for several moments before swallowing. “Now that you ask me that … I have no idea.” Merlin seems to be studying his face. “Maybe something Gwaine said.”

Arthur considers this. “Listen,” he says, “with my job, I’m nowhere long enough to have a relationship, whether it’s with a man or a woman. I was gone to Dubai for three months straight, and before that I was back and forth between Dubai and New York because builds overlapped. Now I’m facing several months in Japan. I rarely see the same people on these projects. A few of my dad’s employees, but no one worth trying to get into a relationship with.”

“Being a dad is on your own personal bucket list, though. How can you do that if you are never home to meet someone?”

Arthur shrugs.

“You might be one of the most complicated people I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t say it like it’s a good thing.”

That’s because I haven’t decided if it’s a good thing,” Merlin answers. “Are these onions?”

They eat the pizza in relative silence, shivering occasionally against the cold air. Merlin turns his electric blanket all the way up and finishes his rum and coconut water. Arthur gets up to make him another drink. He feels Merlin watching him and he knows Merlin is trying to figure him out. There’s nothing deeper than what he had already explained, however. Arthur’s entire life is his job. There’s nothing outside of it. When he comes home in between hotel builds or requisitions, he usually has time to catch up with his mates but no extra hours to find someone to date. His sex life has mostly been one offs, hooking up one night at a time, usually with copious amounts of alcohol to fuel him. 

It’s lonely. Arthur hands the glass back to Merlin and sits on the sofa. _He’s_lonely. Whatever this friendship is with Merlin is the most exciting thing Arthur has done in years. He’s never taken the time to get to know anyone new; he’s never seen the point. There’s something different about Merlin, something sweet and maybe even permanent. There’s a quality there that Arthur wants to explore. He’s never been one for intense friendships, but he feels a pull towards him.

“Okay but you’re not working now,” says Merlin, “so what do you do all day?”

“Um,” says Arthur feeling immediately self-conscious, “I have some stuff I work on. Writing pieces. Or I play guitar. Piano.”

Merlin claps a hand against his mouth. “I forgot about the bloody piano. Do you have one?” He looks around. He jumps up. “Oh my god, you do!”

“My dad shipped it over here once he found out I had let my own place. It’s been in his penthouse for years and it’s technically mine.” Arthur shrugs uselessly. 

The piano stands on the other side of his dining table. It’s upright, not grand, and was used when Arthur was little to practice on. The large grand piano that was the focal point of many of his father’s parties now sits at the hotel in London, but this one is his. There’s a few chips in the wood from two decades of use. Arthur plays it sometimes. He likes the music, he likes that he can do it, and he likes that he’s actually really good at it. But it doesn’t bring many good memories.

“You have to play me something.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Yes!”

“I’m too drunk.”

“No you’re not, and I brought electric blankets since you have no heating!”

Arthur sighs and gets up from the sofa. He crosses into the next room and pulls the piano bench out. He looks at the black and white keys and sighs heavily again. Merlin comes and sits next to him. 

“What do you want to hear?”

“I don’t know good piano music.”

“Of course not. Moonlight Sonata?”

“Sounds romantic.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Not really. Third movement.”

“Third what?”

Arthur ignores him. He presses a few keys to warm up before playing. He remembers the placement of his fingers, the quick movements, the way his hands danced from one end to the other. It’s an interesting feeling – playing music. He was young when he first said he wanted to play the guitar. He thought it would be fun and he wanted to be a song writer for a while when he was nine years old, but his father refused. They finally struck a deal, if Arthur played piano he could also take guitar lessons on the side. The piano was proper, traditional. It was an instrument to be proud of, something you would find at a visit to the symphony. Guitars were for hippies and rock stars.

The piano was something Arthur would play when he was angry. He’d find angry songs and play them fast. He’d find fast songs and play them faster. Anything to drown out the overbearing background noise of his father’s tyranny. 

Even now, in his own home, with this new friend sitting next to him, he mashes his fingers against the keys. He knows the song is lovely – of course it is, it’s a classic – but he can feel the frustration in his hands as he plays. He stops mid-song and glances at Merlin.

“Oh my god,” Merlin whispers. “That was amazing. Why’d you stop?”

“I couldn’t remember the rest,” Arthur lies. 

“Please play me something else.”

Arthur thinks. “White Clouds,” he says. He plays the saddest song he knows. There’s something romantic underneath it, something hopeful, but if he listens to the melody too deep it rearranges him inside and leaves him empty. The music grows louder as he gets towards the middle of the song and he can feel Merlin’s eyes watching his face. Then the pause comes, right when it starts to get sad again. He learned the song years ago, before his mother got sick. She said if she closed her eyes it made her feel like she was floating midair in the sky. 

“_It’s what will be playing when I watch you from Heaven_,” she said, “_over and over again. The soundtrack to how much I love you_.”

He doesn’t know why he’s playing it now. He only plays it when he wants to torture himself and remind him how much better things were when his mother was still alive. He should stop and play something else before Merlin sees it in on his face or in his eyes, the sadness there.

A hand touches his shoulder and he stops playing, only a few more cords until the end anyway. He can’t look at Merlin so he stills his hands against the keys. 

“I can’t believe you’re so good. Why are you wasting your time in hotels?”

“I don’t like playing that much.”

“Are you _kidding _me? If I played like you I’d be trying to do it for a living. Go on Britain’s Got Talent or something.”

Arthur laughs. “Thanks, but it’s a hobby, I guess.”

“You played perfect, though.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” He clears his throat. “My dad wanted me to play when I was young – it doesn’t matter.” Arthur stands. “I need another drink.”

“If your dad was a shit about you playing piano, and if you don’t like your job, and if you don’t support these charities your dad donations to, then why don’t you quit? You could play whatever music you wanted to or, I don’t know, write.”

“I don’t have anything to write about.”

“Sure you do!” exclaimed Merlin. “You’ve been all over the world. Actually! I have the _perfect_thing for your to write. Get your laptop.”

“No. I already played piano for you, I’m not writing you some weird fetish fanfiction or whatever it is you want me to write.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Not fetish – actually, I’m sure I could find a fandom or two in need of better porn, but no, right now I was thinking … you should write your resignation letter.”

“Oh,” says Arthur, surprised. “Resignation letter. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Merlin grins. “I know, I’m brilliant. Let’s do it, bring me your computer.”

…

_Dear Father, _

_ I do not expect you to read this letter and agree, but I do hope after reading you are able to understand me better._

_ When I first took on this job for you, I loved it. I enjoyed traveling and seeing new countries and meeting new people. However, the last few years have been difficult for me. I was never in London, I did not have a house to come home to, and I was never in any one place long enough to make any lasting friendships, let alone create a lasting relationship with anyone. I am at a point in my life where I want to be with someone and, if lucky enough, start a family. Those things may be far off, but I cannot start looking towards the future if I am not in a single place long enough to actually work towards having that future with someone. I think I could make a life for myself here in London that would make you proud._

_ Currently I have a lot of talents that I am unable to use. In university I played music every week and wrote for the school newspaper. I miss being able to be creative. I want to do the things that used to make me happy and I find myself unable to do them while being a project manager for your hotel group. I have asked you in the past to give me another role, allow me to take on different responsibilities, but you’ve never given me a chance. _

_ Part of me wonders if you send me away because you don’t like what you see here. I know things between us are damaged, but the only way to heal the wounds is to work at being better. I cannot do that if I am in Tokyo. I cannot do that if I am anywhere except London. I would like to try to understand you and I would like for you to understand me. As it is right now, we are more strangers than family. I want the opportunity to change that._

_ Please accept this as my resignation. I will continue to do whatever duties you see fit from London, but I am declining the job in Tokyo. I hope to take this time away from Camelot Hotel Group as a chance for me to start to remember who I used to be and start to be happy with myself again. I hope it gives us a chance to stop being employer and employee and start being father and son again._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur_

…

He’s not expecting to show up at Needle Point late the next afternoon. He’s jittery and cannot stand still. He asks the receptionist if Merlin is in and while he waits for her to come back, he looks at all the artwork on the walls. He cannot concentrate and tries to sit, but even that only lasts a few moments before he’s up on his feet again and pacing.

“He said you can go back.”

Arthur doesn’t need to be told twice and he’s pretty sure he forgets to say thank you as he goes down the hallway to the room where Merlin does all his work. There isn’t a door, but the way the walls overlap, no one can look directly in. Arthur rounds the corner and goes through the open doorway. Merlin sits in his wheeled chair, eyes narrowed as he works on the forearm of a rather fit, shirtless guy. Merlin glances at Arthur.

“I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I didn’t realize you had a client,” says Arthur.

“This is Owen,” says Merlin without looking up from what he’s doing. “Owen, this is Arthur.”

“Pleasure,” Owen says. He has his shirt sitting in his lap. He looks very relaxed for someone being inked, Arthur thinks.

“How late are you working?” Arthur asks. “I can come back.”

Merlin pulls away from Owen’s arm. “It’s all right. What’s up?”

“Er…” Arthur swallows. 

“You look like you drank twelve cups of coffee before coming here, what’s wrong? You’re all antsy or something.” Suddenly Merlin jumps up. He stands in front of Arthur and grabs his chin in his hand. “What’s wrong with your face? It’s all red.”

Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s grip.

“Looks like someone smacked you in the face,” Owen says. He searches through his shirt pockets and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“My face is fine,” says Arthur. 

Merlin’s expression is soft and concerned. “Anyway. Hello. What’s going on?”

“I quit my job.”

Merlin’s lips immediately curl into a large smile. Then it disappears as quickly as it came. “Is that why you look like you’ve been in a fight?”

“Jesus,” snaps Arthur, “no.”

Merlin looks skeptical, but he takes a deep breath and drops the subject. “Do you feel free?”

“Yes.”

“We should celebrate.” He turns to Owen. “Hey, how much to go up today? Are you flying?”

“No, but I can, I guess.”

Merlin grins.

“Free flight for a free tattoo?”

“Just for him, not me. And I’m not doing that whole sleeve for free, but I’ll knock off the difference in the price.”

Owen shrugs. “Whatever, that works. You gonna be in the plane?”

“Wait, wait,” says Arthur. “What is happening right now?”

“Owen flies for Sky View London,” says Merlin. “Sky diving.”

“Oh my god,” says Arthur, taken aback.

“It’s on your bucket list,” Merlin reminds. “You already looked hyped up. Use that energy.”

“Only if you do it with me,” says Arthur.

“Me? No, I don’t jump out of airplanes.”

“You may love it.”

“No way.”

Arthur shrugs. “Then I’m not going.”

“This isn’t even my stupid bucket list!” Merlin cries.

“It’s not mine either.”

“I’ll ride up in the plane with you,” Merlin says, “but I’m not jumping.”

“Then I guess you best be getting back to his tattoo.” Arthur crosses his arms over his chest. 

“It’s more fun to jump in pairs,” says Owen. 

“Okay, okay.” Merlin runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, what about a compromise? I go up in the air and jump, but you have to tell me all about that black eye on your face.”

“It’s not a black eye.”

“It will be tomorrow.”

Arthur sighs and groans. “I’ll tell you the whole story one day.”

“‘One day’ could mean one day four years from now.” Merlin puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t try to outsmart me.”

“Fine, fine. How about I’ll tell you one day within the next year?”

“How about a different compromise,” suggests Merlin. “How about in exchange for jumping out of the airplane, I get a free pass to ask you ten personal questions about anything I want, but you _have _to tell the truth – and I promise none of the questions will be about your face.”

“Three questions.”

“Five.”

Arthur extends a hand. “Deal.”

…

The thing about falling through the air is that you are literally falling to your death. In those sixty seconds, Arthur tries to enjoy the feeling of free-falling but he keeps seeing flashes of his life in his mind, things he will miss. Things he will regret.

When the parachute finally opens, his heart stops, but so does his brain. He feels more relaxed, and instead of stressing, he allows himself to look at the view and he glides towards the earth. Merlin lands not too far away from Arthur, and he looks wobbly on his legs when he goes to stand up. He waits for this tantum partner to undo them before turning towards Arthur. 

“That was _amazing_,” Arthur cries.

“I’m going to be sick,” Merlin says. He does look a little green.

Arthur puts his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. “You didn’t love it?”

“No.”

“Oh come on, it was a least a laugh. A story you’ll tell your grandchildren?”

Merlin shakes his head. 

“Come on, then. Let’s go get you a whisky and some chips, yeah?”

Merlin looks as though he is going to be ill the entire car trip back to Arthur’s house. They leave the car there and walk to the closest pub which is about five hundred yards around the block. It’s a bit of a sports place, with televisions broadcasting the latest football and rugby matches. They get a table in the corner, the farthest away from the noise, and Arthur immediately orders drinks and food. 

Merlin is quiet, and Arthur feels the need to talk to fill up the silence. Merlin listens, seemingly amused, and downs his drink in one go as soon as the server drops it off at their table.

“In a hurry to get pissed?” Arthur asks.

“I’m not really a thrill-seeker. That was a bit much for me.”

“Thank you, though. I’ve done four things off the bucket list and I just have six left.”

“Now that you’ve quit your job you can get on that airplane to wherever. Nothing is stopping you.”

“A bit scary, that. Just leaving without knowing where I’m going.”

“I think it sounds brilliant. What an adventure.”

Arthur nods, considering this. “What if the flight is to somewhere boring?”

“You have to be strategic about which airline to choose. Don’t choose one that’s going to fly somewhere you’ve been. Choose one that’s likely to go somewhere exotic.”

“Good idea.”

“Sorry I’m being a bit of a downer. Sky diving was a lot. I feel rather drained.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m going to cash-in one of my questions,” says Merlin. 

“So soon?” Arthur swallows. His palms feel sweaty and cold. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“What’s your favorite childhood memory?”

Arthur flinches, surprised. “Of all the things you could ask me, that’s what you’re choosing?”

“Yes. I’m being strategic.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

Merlin shrugs. “You aren’t really a happy person, so I’ve always kind of wondered if you actually have any happy memories.”

“You don’t think I’m happy?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No.”

Arthur considers this. There aren’t a lot of things in his life that bring him joy, and he doesn’t often find himself laughing or smiling, but he isn’t sure that means he’s unhappy. Quitting his job made him happy. Before that? He’s actually not sure. Maybe the last time he was in a relationship, which was all the way back at uni.

“Well,” says Arthur slowly, “I have to think about this for a moment.”

“You have to think about it?”

“Sure. Can you answer that question immediately?”

“Yeah, of course. Well … sort of. I went to Rome one summer when I was seventeen for an art program. It was amazing.”

“What made it so amazing?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” says Merlin wagging a finger. “You aren’t getting out of answering.”

Arthur sighs and groans. “All right, fine.” He takes a sip of his whisky. “Well. I don’t know that my childhood was particularly happy. There were a few family holidays that weren’t too bad. They usually coincided with something my father had to do for work.” Arthur sighs again. He looks across the pub, trying to think. “Once my mum took Morgana and me to Disney World—”

“Happiest place on earth,” says Merlin.

“—and Morgana wanted to meet all the princesses. I think I was nine or ten and she was seven. We went to the place where you get Cinderella’s autograph and whatever her prince’s name was there, too. Morgana got her picture with both of them, but, er, my mum …” Arthur shifts in his seat and chances a glance at Merlin. “I got my picture with the prince. My dad was furious when he saw it, but my mum told him to back off. She didn’t often stand up to him. That’s not why it was a good memory – I guess because she always let me be without any conditions.”

“You fancied Prince Charming?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think I wanted to _be_him.”

“Be a prince?”

“Maybe a little bit.” Arthur shrugs. “My dad always wanted me to play football or rowing. I wasn’t interested. I wanted to play music. Piano was a compromise because it was traditional, but really he wanted me to do something more manly. He thought the arts were soft. I suppose – Prince Charming, you called him? – didn’t have to be stereotypically masculine to still be strong.”

Merlin is quiet, but he looks as though he’s thinking.

“That whole trip, she let me get my picture with whoever I wanted. I still have them somewhere. Hidden in some of my books, like bookmarks. I had to hide them from my father. That whole trip was probably one of the best times I had. It was the three of us, and I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone other than myself.”

He chances a glance at Merlin who looks almost sad.

“Sorry, that was probably more than you wanted to know.”

“No way! I’ve been dying to get a better glimpse into who you really are.”

“I’m not particularly interesting.”

Merlin looks taken aback. “That’s not – I can’t – Jesus, Arthur, the fact that you have such low self-esteem is fascinating.”

“I don’t have low self-esteem.” Arthur is offended.

“You spent most of your life perfecting these skills that didn’t matter to you because you just wanted to please your dad and you don’t think you’re interesting or even clever enough to quit your job and do something else. I bet you’re terrified that after six months you won’t be able to find anything else to do because no one will want to hire you.”

“I quit my job today and then jumped out of an airplane. I’m not here to be psychoanalyzed. I think I’ve had enough trauma.” He raises a hand to the server and motions for another round of drinks. “I’m here to get sloshed and forget that I resigned without a single job prospect.”

“Cheers to that, mate.” A smile curls the corners of Merlin’s mouth, so small Arthur almost missed it. “Prince Charming.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I should have made something up.”

“No, it’s a beautiful story, that. Your mum wasn’t ashamed that you fancied Prince Charming—”

“I didn’t fancy him,” Arthur grinds out.

“—and I think that sort of unconditional love is exactly the reason you want kids. To, like, give that to them.”

Arthur is quiet.

“You know … that seems to be a theme in your life. The whole traditional thing with your dad.”

“Yeah, my father is very preoccupied with traditional values and appearances, so when I didn’t want to play football he worried what people might think of me since I was a boy and boys are supposed to like sports and things.”

“But then he let you play piano, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. Guitars are for deviants. At least piano is classic.”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “If that’s your favorite memory, it’s not even really that happy.”

“It’s the closest I got. After my mum died, I was never allowed to stray from whatever dad’s plan or vision for me was. Lots of pressure. At least when she was still around, things were better.”

“I never knew my dad,” says Merlin. “My mum always accepted me for who I was. She tells all her friends I’m a tattoo artist. She finds no shame in it.”

“She doesn’t care that you’re gay either?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Why should she?”

Their server drops off their drinks and takes their empty glasses. Arthur holds his glass in his hands and looks at the light brown liquid. 

“Do you ever wish you weren’t? Gay, I mean.”

“Never. I don’t know anything else. Why would I want to be straight? Girls are weird. Besides, I’m pretty tall and rather strong for a skinny guy, and I like someone who can throw down, you know? Harder to find in a girl, that. Someone who is stronger than me.”

Arthur looks up and Merlin holds his gaze like it’s a challenge. Arthur breaks eye contact and shakes his head.

“You’re demented,” he laughs. “Girls can throw down, too.”

…

Over the next two weeks, Arthur finds himself at his piano, tapping at the keys, at least once a day. It’s a little strange; he usually avoids it. Something is nice about it, though. Familiar and safe. Leon was his go-to guy for going out, but the last two times he’s texted him about grabbing a drink, he’s gotten the response, _Can’t unless you want your sister to come_. His baby sister still ruins everything. Instead, he finds himself texting or calling Merlin to hang out. Arthur likes keeping Merlin close. There’s something in their friendship that he never had with Leon or Gwaine. 

Merlin finally wears him down and Arthur invites him over to teach him some chords on the piano. Part of Merlin’s bucket list. There’s a few songs Merlin says he wants to learn, but Arthur assures him they’re too difficult to learn as a beginner, but he turns a couple of them into duets, giving Merlin an easy accompaniment of simple chords. He finds himself sharing the piano bench, their hips almost touching, their knees definitely knocking together, but Arthur doesn’t comment on it. The way Merlin’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard whenever they accidentally touch lets Arthur know that Merlin’s very much not commenting on it either.

Why should he comment on it? They’re friends. He doesn’t have to explain away teaching a friend piano. It shouldn’t be weird. People touch all the time. Arthur runs a hand over his face. This thing with Merlin is definitely not a thing so he needs to turn his brain off and stop agonizing over it not being a thing.

“Are you all right?”

Arthur snaps his attention to Merlin. “Yeah, sorry. Was thinking about the things I need to pack. I think I’m going to go to the airport tomorrow. Play that movement again.”

“Movement?”

“…everything I just taught you.”

“Right.” 

Merlin plays. He keeps messing up at the same spot.

“Watch my hands.” Arthur plays, his arms crossing in front of Merlin, invading his space. He almost misses the key himself when he thinks he feels Merlin lean into him. “Right here. Watch now.” Arthur removes his hands. “Your turn.”

Merlin looks at him. “You okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Fine.”

“So tomorrow? For the airport?”

Arthur nods. “Yeah.”

Merlin gets up from the piano and places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

Merlin’s version of helping is lying on Arthur’s bed and telling him which shirts he shouldn’t take. He convinces him to take a large duffle bag instead of a suitcase – “suitcases are for businessmen, which you, thankfully, are not” – and tells him to bring his guitar – nowhere better than places unknown to play guitar on a street corner.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” Merlin asks, his tone careful and slow.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it, honestly.”

“It’ll be weird having you gone,” says Merlin. “I’m used to seeing you almost every day.”

Arthur nods. “Right.” His throat feels as though it might close up. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it? Seeing each other every day?”

“I don’t think so. You must not have a lot of best mates, then.”

Arthur clears his throat. “You know the answer to that.”

Merlin tilts his head to the side as though studying him – something he tends to do a lot. “Don’t forget your passport,” he says.

“Oh right.” Arthur goes to his work bag, opens the front pocket and pulls it out. He puts it in the side pocket of the messenger bag he plans on taking with him on the plane. He has a couple of books and his personal laptop, the one that is filled with half-finished stories and blog posts he’s never published. 

“You should write about your travels,” Merlin says. “Make this the first trip of many.”

“There are already travel blogs out there.”

“So make it different than the others.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Please don’t say something else about my self-esteem.”

Merlin presses his lips together. “Fine, but—”

“Hey, so did you ever finish Owen’s sleeve?”

“Yes. We haggled over the price for-fucking-ever. Are you ever going to come back in and get one?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d even want.” Arthur sits on his bed, barely a foot away from Merlin. “I don’t even know what I like. I mean, for so long I worked that job and did whatever my father wanted me to do.”

“What do you mean? You know what you like.”

“I thought I hated the piano, since, you know, I was forced to play it. There was always a lot of resentment whenever I had to, but I’ve enjoyed teaching you. I don’t know what that means.”

“Can I cash in another question?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. He stands and zips his duffle bag, checks the latches of his guitar case.

“Tell me everything you like about yourself.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Jesus fucking – Can you list everything you like about yourself?”

“I don’t,” begins Arthur. He wets his lips and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know.” He feels slightly ill. 

Merlin stands. “I can give you a list of what _I _like, if you want.” He clears his throat dramatically. “I like that you aren’t afraid to be friends with me. A lot of men are weird about it since I’m gay – like it offends their masculinity or something. I like that you’re patient – which I know you’re going to say you’re not, but I’m pants at music and you’re being pretty nice about teaching me. I also like that you’re really fucking fit.”

Arthur scoffs.

“Your turn.”

He shakes his head.

“Oh come on. We made a deal.”

“But this isn’t—”

“I made it into a question. You can’t back out unless you tell me about your black eye.”

“All right, fine. Um, I like that music comes easily, because I really do like to play. I do like that I’m – to use your word – fit. It comes in handy whenever I want to pull someone. I like that I’m a good writer. I’m not the greatest, and I may never write the next international best seller, but I’m good enough that all my profs in school used to tell me how good I was. There’s your list.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“No. You should be able to list a lot more. It’s, like, completely tragic that you can’t.”

Arthur doesn’t answer.

“So okay – like, you admit that you think you’re good-looking.”

Arthur can feel heat rise up the back of his neck and into his face. “Yes.”

“That’s good – that’s a good start! How do you know you’re fit?”

“Everyone tells me.”

Merlin grins. “I bet they do. So you try to pull often?”

“Um, no. No, not often. But I guess I know when I’m looking for something I can. It’s usually not too hard.”

“Yet here you are, still single.”

Arthur steels himself. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But that has nothing to do with this so-called low self-esteem you think I have. I travel too much for work.”

“But don’t you think if you found someone, you could figure out how to make it work? Might be a lot of traveling, but if they were worth it for you, then you’d be worth it for them.”

“That’s too much to ask of someone.”

“Not if they really loved you. You haven’t even tried.”

“Merlin.” Arthur says his name and it comes out like a warning.

“All right, all right,” says Merlin. “But I know there’s better qualities than just that about yourself. We’ll put this to the side. For now,” says Merlin as though the conversation will come up again at a later date. “Maybe after your six months off work you’ll find some more things to list.”

“You only have three questions left, so use them wisely,” says Arthur.

“Oh, I plan on it.”

…

Merlin leaves late that evening. When Arthur decides to finally go to bed, he stares at his bags and feels something twist in his stomach. He isn’t sure if it’s nervousness or anxiety or something else entirely. Fear maybe. Loneliness. He’s spent so much of his life alone; even when he was a child he was alone. He was born with a piece of himself missing or misplaced. For a while it was easy to ignore it because his mother was able to tape it up, make him think he was whole. Except when she is finally gone, he realizes just how unstable tape is, and her temporary fix bursts apart and leaves him fragmented. He wonders if all this bucket list stuff is helping to fill him up because his missing piece feels smaller than it usually does.

When Arthur shows up at the airport, he’s got his passport, a credit card, and his bags. He looks at the screen showing all the departures, reading through the list of airlines that fly out of Heathrow. He needs to decide on an airline. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, and goes to British Airways. They fly all over the world and they’re familiar. He waits in line and when the next agent is free, he approaches. He’s tried to script what he’s going to say in his head, but he’s fairly certain she’s going to think he’s mad no matter what he says.

“How can I help you?” she asks.

“I need to purchase a ticket.”

“Brilliant, I can help you with that. Where are you flying to?”

“What leaves in the next two to three hours?”

“Pardon me?”

“I need something that leaves in the next couple of hours.”

She looks at him for a moment, glances at the guitar sitting on the ground next to him, and then looks at her computer screen. “Let’s see. I have New York that leaves in forty-five minutes, but I doubt you’ll make it through security in time. In ninety minutes I have Sydney and in four hours I have—”

“No,” says Arthur. He looks at his watch. “It can’t leave any later than one-seventeen.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I have a bucket list.”

“Indeed.” She looks back at her screen. “I have Vancouver that departs at one-eleven.”

“I’ll take it.” Arthur pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and pauses. “Is there a connecting flight to Fairbanks?”

“Fairbanks, Alaska? Not with us, but with a sister company, sure. But, er … not until tomorrow, even with the time zone changes.” 

Arthur looks behind him. There isn’t a line so he sets his wallet down on the counter and takes out his mobile. He rings Merlin.

“Sorry,” he says to the agent, “just a tick – hey, how busy are you right now?”

Merlin answers and everything seems fairly quiet on his end. “Um, I was about to leave for work. Why?”

“What if I told you that there’s a flight leaving in two hours fifty-eight minutes for Vancouver?”

“I’d say you should’ve packed a coat.”

“With a connecting flight tomorrow morning to Fairbanks,” Arthur adds.

Merlin is quiet. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that your bucket list is seeing the Northern Lights in Fairbanks and I can get us there.”

“Arthur, I can’t—”

“I’m buying you a ticket.” Arthur holds up two fingers to the agent.

“I can’t – I don’t have time to pack.”

“So we’ll buy you clothes there. I’m assuming your passport is valid? You said you always have it with you.”

“Of course it is,” snaps Merlin, “but I still have a job.”

“Call in sick.”

“I swear to god.”

“Do you have first class available?”

“I can’t afford first class!” Merlin cries. “Oh my god.”

The agent shakes her head. “I’m afraid all I have is club seating. There aren’t two seats together, though.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we can figure that part out later.”

“_Arthur_.”

“I’ll need both your names.”

“It’s Merlin Emrys.”

Merlin protests in Arthur’s ear, but Arthur ignores him.

“Listen,” says Arthur, “the more you complain the longer it’ll take you to get here. I know you can get here in twenty minutes if you leave right now, so I’ll meet you by security, all right?” Arthur ends the call before Merlin can argue, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

…

It ends up being fairly easy finding someone to switch seats with, although it lands them smack in the middle of the plane. Arthur has never flown anything other than first class, so while he hears these seats are better than economy, they’re not as comfortable as he’s used to. Merlin looks anxious; he keeps wiping his palms on the knees of his jeans.

“Calm down,” says Arthur. “What’s wrong?”

“Flying makes me nervous.”

“Oh. There’s nothing to it. I thought you said you were always up for adventures?”

“Also, I don’t know if you have any idea how much tattoo artists make, but it’s not really enough to go traipsing off to foreign countries on a whim. My rent is due next week and all my clients are being rebooked because I’m here.”

“You don’t have to pay me back for the ticket.”

“But there will be hotels and food and I have to buy clothes since all I have is what’s on me right now. I didn’t think this through. I don’t have a charger for my mobile.”

“I can—”

“No,” says Merlin. “We’ll figure it out, but you’re not funding my entire trip.”

“Technically I invited you, so you may want to try to be open to the idea of not sending yourself into poverty simply because you’re too prideful.”

“Prideful?” Merlin looks pained as he takes a deep breath. “All right, all right. Ah – what the fuck was that?”

“We’re taxing to the runway.”

“What does that mean?”

“Going to wait in line to take off.”

“Oh Jesus.” Merlin leans over and puts his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. 

Arthur rubs his back. “It’s all right. I fly all the time and I’ve barely ever even hit turbulence. It’s no big deal.”

“How long is this flight?”

“Nine hours.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Merlin moans. “You should’ve brought Leon with you.”

Arthur continues to rub circles into Merlin’s back. “Huh,” he says quietly, mostly to himself, “it never occurred to me to bring Leon.”

“Lucky me.”

The plane takes off and Arthur orders them drinks. He plugs in a set of earbuds and they each take one and watch a movie on the screen in front of Merlin’s seat. Arthur lets him pick since Merlin seems to be an anxious flyer. Merlin doesn’t want the in-flight meal and asks for something carbonated instead. Halfway through his drink and the film, he falls asleep, head on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur doesn’t want to wake him, so he tries to stay still and chooses something else to watch when the credits start to roll. 

When Merlin stirs an hour later, his cheeks turn a deep red and he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Oh my god,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I think I drooled on you.”

Arthur looks at the shoulder of his shirt. “It’s all right.”

Merlin looks at him as though he’s going to say something, but he excuses himself to the loo instead. Arthur watches him walk through the aisle up to the front where the tiny bathroom is. From the set of seats near the window, a man leans over towards Arthur, one hand on Merlin’s abandoned armrest.

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“Pardon?”

The man smirks. “That bloke. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“So he’s single, then?”

“Er,” says Arthur, “I guess so.”

The man nods and retreats back to his seat. “Good to know.”

Merlin comes back and sits down. “How much longer?”

“Three hours.”

“Fuck.” Merlin rubs his eyes. “Okay, what else can we do? We can write your first travel blog post.”

“Wait – what? I’m not doing a travel blog.”

“So then think of another theme.” Merlin taps a finger to his chin. 

“How to get through a nine-hour flight with an insufferable—”

“Writing about yourself, then?”

Arthur clamps his mouth shut but is struggling not to laugh. “Touché.”

The man from across the aisle leans over again. “Excuse me,” he says to Merlin. “Hi. I’m Eoin.” He holds out a hand and Merlin tentatively shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m Merlin.”

“Lovely.”

Arthur listens to them talk. Merlin seems hesitant at first, but loosens up as the conversation goes on. Arthur looks through the movies selection to find something else to watch, and settles on the movie he and Merlin watched the night his heating went out. He has a difficult time gauging how interested Merlin really is in this bloke.

“So are you staying in Vancouver?”

“No,” says Merlin, “we have a connecting flight to Fairbanks.”

“Alaska? What’s in Fairbanks?”

“The Northern Lights.” Merlin grins.

“Aren’t there places closer to London?”

“I read Fairbanks is the best place to see them.”

“What about your friend? Is he tagging along?” 

“It was his idea,” says Merlin. “Checking something off my bucket list.”

“That’s a nice friend.”

“Yeah.”

“So tell me about your tattoos. Do you have any hidden ones?”

Merlin sputters a noncoherent response. 

“Relax. I’m not asking to see what’s under your shirt. Yet.”

Arthur watches Merlin. As the conversation continues, Merlin begins to shift away from the aisle and laugh awkwardly. When Eoin tries to confirm that Merlin is indeed single, Merlin hesitates. Something out of Arthur’s body pulls him and he leans towards Merlin and places a hand firmly on his thigh.

“Hey, you want to watch this again?” he motions towards the screen. “I think you fell asleep before it was over last time.”

Merlin turns his head quickly and meets Arthur’s eyes. He looks relieved and nods. “Yeah,” he says softly.

Eoin looks at the hand on Merlin’s thigh and frowns. “I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“We’re friends. Travel companions.”

“I don’t like the word ‘boyfriend,’” says Merlin. He puts the earbud back in his ear and then places his hand on top of Arthur’s. He looks straight ahead at the screen and presses play. 

Arthur glances around him, and looks at Eoin. He shrugs and smirks. Eoin looks annoyed. Arthur settles back into his seat. He shifts and his body gravitates towards Merlin, now shoulder to shoulder. He doesn’t think anything of it at first, but the movie is almost over with before he realizes that his hand is still firmly on Merlin’s thigh. 

…

  1. _ Do something permanent_
  2. _ <strike>Paint one wall in your bedroom </strike><strike>RED </strike>and leave it for an entire year_
  3. _ <strike>Go to a drag show</strike>_
  4. _<strike> Go skydiving</strike>_
  5. _<strike> Quit your job & don’t get another one for 6 months</strike>_
  6. _<strike> Go to the airport, pick a random airline, & buy tickets to a flight leaving exactly 2 hours from now (& no more than 3 hours)</strike>_
  7. _ Perform at a slam poetry night_
  8. _ Go skinny dipping_
  9. _ Play guitar on a street corner & find someone to sing w/ you_
  10. _ Shoplift_

…

**Part Two**

Merlin’s skin is _literally _burning. He has no idea what the hell this movie is even about – he thinks he’s watched it before, maybe, he thinks that’s what Arthur said, but this bloody man has his hand on his thigh and he’s going to pass out. Literally pass out. 

Merlin rubs his eyes. There was a rather fit man across the aisle who must have been gay because he was certainly hitting on him, which isn’t really anything new, a lot of men hit on him, but he’s never been in such an enclosed space with no escape when the attention isn’t welcomed. It was okay at first, but something didn’t feel right and he wanted it to be over. And the _maddest _part of the whole thing was how Arthur got jealous or protective or possessive or _something_. It was like he drew a line in the sand and told Eoin he wasn’t allowed to cross, this was a two-man club. He might as well hung up a sign that said _no one else allowed _for the vibe he was giving off with that hand on his thigh. 

It’s been months now that he’s been friends with Arthur and it’s been the most ridiculous few months of his life. Arthur is completely gay. Except when Merlin brings it up, Arthur acts like he isn’t. Yet now he’s holding onto his leg like he owns it, or wants to own it. Hell, either way, Merlin would let him have it. And not just his leg. All of him. Arthur could have all of him if he wanted.

Merlin is going to throw up.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin parts his fingers and looks at Arthur. He drops his hands from his eyes and nods. “Maybe a little airsick?”

Arthur pulls his hand back and wraps up his earbuds. The movie is finished. “There’s only about an hour left, and a good bit of it will be descent so it’s almost over.”

“Great.”

Arthur offers him a small smile, but Merlin is too wound up to return it. He takes a deep breath and tries to steady his hands. 

“I’m shaking,” he says, holding a hand out in front of him.

Arthur grabs his fingers. “You need to calm down.” There’s patience in his voice, which is surprising. Merlin knows he’s being overly dramatic right now and Arthur is being kind, which is infuriating. 

“Sure, okay.”

“Does landing scare you?”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s fine, I’ll be fine.” He takes in another deep breath. “What time is it at home?”

Arthur looks at his watch. “Five.”

“And in Vancouver?”

“Ten.”

“Ten?”

“Ten in the morning. Eight hours behind.”

“Oh my fucking jetlag,” Merlin sighs. “So when you said our flight for Alaska leaves the next morning, I thought you meant our layover would be a few hours.”

“It leaves at seven tomorrow morning. Because of the time changes, this flight was really only an hour.”

“And, pray tell, how long is the flight home?”

“Eighteen hours, give or take.”

“I swear to god, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Merlin rubs his eyes again. “All right, then. When we land, I’d like to pick up some clothes and then we need to figure out how to make some quick money.”

“Pardon? Quick money?”

“Yeah, I’m not having you pay for this whole trip.” 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say. Although, we do need to buy heavy coats.”

“Why? How cold is it in Vancouver?”

“It’s not so much Vancouver …”

“Oh no. I’m not built to freeze,” says Merlin. “How cold is it in Fairbanks?”

Arthur pulls out his phone and connects to the in-flight WiFi. “Google tells me it’s ten degrees right now. That’s in Fahrenheit, though. Americans are odd. So in Celsius—”

“I don’t want to know,” Merlin interrupts. “I’m not meant to be cold.”

“Yet here we are, going to see the Northern Lights.”

“Probably should have just bought a postcard with a picture of them on it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. He does that a lot around Merlin. 

There’s this thing Arthur does after he rolls his eyes, though. The side of his mouth twitches, just a tiny bit, like he’s almost going to smile but doesn’t. Merlin noticed it a while ago, and now he waits for it, that little tug on the corner of Arthur’s mouth. It’s, like, even though Arthur is clearly exasperated with Merlin, he’s still amused or maybe even fond. If only he was gay.

Except Merlin has literally never been wrong about someone being gay before. It’s a gift he has. Which would mean Arthur _is _gay and just not telling him. That’s the part that drives Merlin mad, because why wouldn’t he want Merlin to know unless it was because he doesn’t fancy him? In which case, the hand on his thigh for two hours was absolute bullshit. Talk about mixed signals.

“You look really wound tight,” says Arthur. “Is the flight really making you that nervous?”

“Yeah,” Merlin lies.

Over the speaker, the pilot comes on and announces the descent into Vancouver. Thank. God.

Arthur is still looking at him and Merlin has to divert his eyes. He never knows what is going on in Arthur’s brain.

“I flew to Perth once. Longest flight I’ve ever been on. Sixteen hours. Rio was eleven hours. Singapore was thirteen. Dubai was only seven. The worst flight was Hawaii. I had to go to Los Angeles, which was eleven, I think. I had a short layover, but there was a tropical storm or something and my three-hour layover turned into a fourteen-hour layover, so then it was another five hours flight time to the island, so I got there thirty hours after I took off from London. It was a nightmare.”

“Worst flight attendant,” Merlin says. He means for it to be a question, but it comes out like a demand.

“One sneezed into my drink and then proceeded to accidentally drop it in my lap.”

“Gross. Worst airport.”

“Lisbon or Malta. Although Chicago wasn’t that great, if memory serves.”

“Lisbon, interesting. Malta. You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you? We’ll come back to that. Worst person you sat next to.”

“Please don’t make me relive that. It was this older lady, maybe twenty years older than me, who kept trying to get me to go to the loo with her. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Did you do it?”

“Of course not. I asked the flight attendant to change seats.”

“You wouldn’t just do a quickie in the loo?”

Arthur looks almost offended. “No. Never.”

“Why? Because it’s a loo? Because it’s an airplane? Or because it was a woman?”

“Just no.”

“You must not have very imaginative sex, then.” An idea. Merlin grins. “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Then I’ll make it one of my five questions.”

“You’re kidding.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Nope.”

Arthur sighs. “You’re awful. Let me think.”

“That’s your first problem. You shouldn’t have to think. You should _know_.”

“Blair Goodall. It was while I was still in uni. I took a Russian class because my father was going to build a hotel there and didn’t know anything about Russia. I thought it would impress him, make my life easier when I went home. He’s not an easy man to please. Blair took the class, too, and we both struggled with it. Our prof said Russian is one of the most difficult languages to learn. We started staying behind after class to study, which was really a farce. And we’d do it in the classroom, door unlocked. No one ever walked in, thankfully. That was part of the fun, though. And Blair would do anything I asked. Totally got off on exhibitionism. Which was fine at the time, but not really my thing now. Still, it was a fun few months. And no – I am not going to give you additional intimate details of my sex life.”

“Blair Goodall,” Merlin repeats. “What a perfectly gender-neutral name.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Anyway, a classroom – what the fuck was that? What just happened?” 

“The plane dropped. It’s okay. Air currents.”

Merlin leans forward and puts his head almost all the way down to his knees. Arthur rubs his back to try to calm him. Arthur is so gay; Merlin can feel it. Yet, he’s known girls named Blair. He tries to clear his mind and relax as the plane starts back towards earth.

…

They get Merlin a change of clothes at a store in the airport. Merlin almost yells at Arthur when he sneaks his card into the credit card machine before he could ever get his out of his pocket. He wants to get angry, but he knows Arthur is just trying to be nice, the arsehole. Merlin feels the jetlag already; it should be dinnertime but he sees signs for breakfast as they pass restaurants on their way to baggage claim. He can tell it’s cold here, colder than London, but still not too bad. The thought of being in Fairbanks, though, is frightening. Merlin doesn’t usually do well with the cold, but he’s ready to suck it up to cross something off his personal bucket list. 

“I have an idea,” says Arthur. “There’s a Camelot hotel in the city. I’m sure I can get us a room for free.”

“Even though you don’t work for him anymore?”

“I doubt he would make that common news. I’m sure it’ll be a secret for as long as he can keep it. If my employee number still works, it’ll be a free night.”

“Yeah, all right!” Merlin exclaims. “Let’s do it. And then you can play guitar on a street corner for money and it’ll help pay for dinner.”

Arthur stops and turns. He’s wearing his duffle bag like a backpack, his guitar case in one hand, and a shopping bag in his other hand. People brush past him towards the front doors of the airport. 

“You have to cross it off your list,” says Merlin, “and then it’ll be like two birds one stone kind of thing, yeah?”

“Right,” says Arthur, although he doesn’t look convinced _at all._ Merlin decides this is one of his favorite Arthur looks. Slightly terrified and mostly skeptical. It’s genuine and Merlin doesn’t think Arthur has had many chances in his life to be completely genuine with people. He likes to think he gets to see the true authentic Arthur. Literally the best kind of Arthur. 

Merlin has never been into any of Arthur’s father’s hotels. He read once about all the charities the hotel group donated to, and it turned him off so badly he didn’t want to stay. At least this wouldn’t be contributing money to it. When Merlin first follows Arthur into the lobby, he’s in awe. There are large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, lush sofas and armchairs strategically placed around in small groups, and bouquets of flowers as tall as Merlin on all the tables. There’s a bar, too, over in the far corner, where the servers wear black coattails, and never in his life would Merlin have imagined he’d be in a hotel like this now. 

He leans against the front desk and looks around as Arthur asks for a room. He watches as Arthur pulls out his ID and hands it over. He watches as the clerk looks at the name, the picture, at Arthur, and then back down at the name. He can see the rigidity in his shoulders; he’s suddenly nervous.

“This is, ah, just a pleasure visit,” says Arthur. “No business. So if we could keep me being here kind of quiet, that would be lovely.”

“You don’t want me to tell anyone you’re here?”

“No, I don’t want to make a fuss. No need for anyone to feel nervous that the owner’s son is here.”

The clerk glances at Merlin. “I understand.”

Merlin smirks and Arthur elbows him.

“Do you want your father’s usual suite?”

“Oh, no. Just a regular room. We’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

The clerk types a bunch of stuff into his computer before swiping a keycard and handing it over to Arthur. They’re on the fifteenth floor. The elevators are glass and Merlin watches the lobby disappear as it goes up. The hotel is circular, nothing but glass from the outside. There aren’t any hallways, all the walkways from the elevators are open – with half-walls high enough that no one will fall over, but low enough to peak down to the lobby floors below. When they get off the elevator, Merlin looks over the edge of the balcony. It’s literally the highest hotel room he’s ever been in. He turns towards Arthur, who has that fond expression on his face again. It makes Merlin want to scream.

He follows Arthur to the end of the walkway. Arthur swipes the keycard and opens the door. The room seems fairly basic, but all the finishes are lovely. Arthur puts all his stuff down and goes to the outside balcony. He opens the doors and steps out. Merlin watches as Arthur places his hands on the railing, his shoulders tense. The only reason they’re staying here is because Merlin said he didn’t want Arthur to pay for his whole trip, and he can tell that Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

“Hey,” says Merlin, walking out. The balcony is small, but the view is great. It’s probably the best view Merlin has ever seen, but he’s not particularly well-traveled. Being all the way in Canada is pretty wild. 

Arthur turns. 

“We don’t have to be here, you know. It’s your dad’s place and—”

“It’s fine. It’s kind of like a final ‘fuck you’ to him.”

Merlin nods. “Right. At least your face looks better.” He stands next to Arthur and looks all the way down to the sidewalks below. It’s way too far up so he turns to face Arthur and leans his back against the railing instead.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “My face always looked fine.”

“It looks fine even with a black eye.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, but there’s a new pinkness to the tops of his cheeks.

“So if you’re in a foreign country that doesn’t have a Camelot hotel in it, then where do you stay?”

“Sometimes other hotels, or sometimes we’ll let a flat. A lot of cities have fully furnished flats for short-term leases for businesspeople. I preferred the flats. They’d be just as impersonal as hotel rooms, but at least I’d get a full kitchen and neighbors.”

“When your six months is up, do you think you’ll ask your dad for your job back?”

“No. I already feel so much freer and happier without that job. I needed this more than I realized.”

“Do you think that after a year you’ll find a new house to let?”

Arthur shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, it’s kind of a crappy house, let’s be honest. I think I’d like something a little newer.”

“You’re so posh and fancy.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I’m hungry and tired.”

“Same. Grab your guitar.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re going to find a busy street corner and play for our dinner.”

“_We_?”

“Well, you know. I’m here for moral support. Bucket list, Arthur.”

“I hate this fucking bucket list.”

“No, you don’t. If it wasn’t for that list, you’d never have come into my shop and we’d never be friends, and I certainly wouldn’t be in a foreign country with you.”

Arthur looks at him, studying something there. Merlin swallows but tries not to break the eye contact. Arthur’s eyes glance down at Merlin’s mouth. For a brief moment he thinks Arthur might lean in, kiss him, but instead Arthur nods and squeezes his shoulder before going back into the hotel room. What the fuck? Merlin is ready to throw himself right over this railing.

They head out, and Merlin follows Arthur. They stop at a store to buy two coats and then continue on to a busy street corner. Arthur shakes his head and then goes back up towards a large office building. It’s mildly busy with people walking in and out, but there are benches in front and Arthur sits down on one. He rubs his hands over his face and Merlin watches. There’s an anxiety there, a restlessness. Which is something Merlin cannot wrap his head around: Arthur having any self-doubt. He’s literally the best-looking bloke Merlin has ever been mates with, and he’s wealthy and clever and so, so, _so _fit. It makes absolutely no sense why he can’t see what everyone else sees. He’s better looking than Gwaine ever was, and everyone always fell head over arse for Gwaine. Although, suddenly Merlin is realizing he may not be able to be objective when it comes to Arthur any longer. He knows it happened somewhere between him losing the heating and going skydiving. Or maybe when he first walked into his shop wanting a tattoo. Who knows.

Merlin sits next to him. “What’s up?”

“I’ve never played the guitar in public before.”

“You’ve played piano, though, right? You’re amazing at piano. You’re amazing at this, too.”

“Stop buttering me up,” Arthur says softly. “The list says someone has to sing with me.”

“I’ll handle that. You just play. And don’t play any of your sad fucking songs, yeah? No one wants to be depressed while walking into work. Give them a reason to stick around and listen.”

“No pressure or anything,” Arthur mumbles.

“They’ll stop and watch you because you’re handsome.”

Arthur doesn’t look up, but Merlin can see the pink of his cheeks. It’s always hilarious when he manages to embarrass him.

“Make sure you keep that guitar case open so people can give you money.”

Merlin walks a few feet away. He watches as Arthur takes out the guitar and strums it, adjusting the knobs at the top – whatever those are called – and preparing himself to play. He seems tentative at first, which is so ridiculous. Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes in case Arthur looks over at him. He plays some Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan, which Merlin only knows because he’s heard him play those before. He doesn’t know any of the words to anything Arthur plays and, really, he doesn’t know the titles of the songs either. It doesn’t take long before a small crowd stands around him, just six or seven people. But two of them have their phones out. When seven turns to eleven and then fifteen, Merlin gets his own phone out and records while Arthur plays. Through the camera lens there’s a bit of sadness in the corners of his eyes that Merlin didn’t noticed before. He wonders why and wonders if it’s because he’s thinking of his mother when he plays, since they always seemed to be connected through music.

Everything Arthur plays is either upbeat or fast. Enjoyable. The crowd is smiling. Girls are taking pictures of him and giggling, clearly smitten. And why shouldn’t they be? Arthur is proving time and time again to be amazing.

Then Arthur changes tunes and slows his play. Merlin knows these chords. Arthur plays them again.

“Hey!” Merlin yells. He barely registers that he’s even doing this. “Don’t you guys know this song?”

A few people nod, but no one steps up to sing. Merlin steps in closer. This song is iconic. They all know it; he’d eat his own hand if they didn’t.

Arthur continues to play and Merlin starts.

“_Well I’ve heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord_…” He sweeps his arms into the air, hoping to gain some traction. “_But you don’t really care for music, do you?_ Oh come on!”

“You do it!” someone shouts. “You’re amazing, too!”

Merlin misses the next lines, but suddenly all the eyes are on him, including Arthur’s, who looks so expectant that Merlin can’t help but grumble and continue. He picks up on the second _Hallelujah._

“_Well you faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya… She tied you to her kitchen chair, and she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah._”

People are videoing him now with their phones, and Merlin tries not falter. He’s not a great singer, certainly not amazing, but he’s got something unique in the sound and he knows this. It got him through theater in college and people always seem to like the weird folksy sound he has. Certainly all these weird-ass Canadian people seem to like it. 

When the song is over, Arthur doesn’t stop, and he launches into a new song. Merlin needs a moment to recover, but clearly Arthur has other ideas. Merlin sits next to him on the bench.

“So is this what we’re doing with our afternoon, then?”

“Clearly,” says Arthur. “I know you know the words.”

He’s right. Merlin does.

…

Back at the hotel room, they count all the money, but since it’s Canadian, Merlin has no idea how much they’ve actually made.

“Is it enough to buy dinner?” Merlin asks.

“Yes. One really expensive dinner, or several cheap ones.”

“I don’t need anything expensive,” says Merlin. He stretches out on his bed.

“Thanks,” Arthur says, his voice rather low. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“Yes, you could’ve. If I hadn’t come, you still would’ve played.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s one more thing to cross off the list, and now I have four left.”

They split the money – Arthur insists – and they go to dinner. They have two beers each and then walk around the city. It’s too cold for Merlin, but he stays out, walking next to Arthur, not wanting this attention to end. It’s like he can pretend Arthur is his, showing him the sites of a foreign city where they’re both on holiday together. He wonders if people think they’re a couple. It wouldn’t be a giant leap – most people assume he’s gay as soon as they meet him, and surely they’d assume he was with Arthur by default. Although Arthur is much too beautiful for him.

They sleep in their separate beds that night, and the next morning Arthur wakes him so they can make it to the airport. They have a short flight to Seattle and then their plane goes directly to Fairbanks. Merlin falls asleep on the airplane, but it’s not very deep and he’s in and out of awareness. He knows when the flight attendant comes by and asks if they want anything to drink. Arthur tells her to bring Merlin a pack of cookies for when he wakes up. Later, Merlin stirs and listens to Arthur’s fingers pat away against the keyboard of his laptop. When he finally wakes up for real, he’s curled up awkwardly in the seat. The armrest is up, giving him more room to lounge and he immediately feels guilty; Arthur must have moved it to give him more space while he slept. He hopes he wasn’t annoying while he was out.

“Hey,” Arthur says. “Awake for good now?”

Merlin blinks. “Dunno,” he answers. “What’re you doing?” He sits all the way up and stretches. He thinks his muscles may pop and break he’s so stiff. 

“Er…”

Arthur’s blush is literally the best thing. It’s like he caught him doing something unseemly instead of just typing shit on his computer. 

“Writing erotic fanfiction?”

“What!” Arthur cries. “No way!”

Merlin smirks. “Then what has got you all flustered?”

“Just some, er, blog ideas.” He shrugs. “I like to write so…”

This wakes up Merlin more. “I love it! You should! I mean, I’ve never read your writing or anything, but if it’s half as good as your piano playing then I’m sure—”

“You’ve got to stop giving me compliments.”

“Why?”

“I think you see me in an unrealistic way. I’m not.” Arthur swallows. “I’m not really all that great.”

“I think you’re fantastic. Tell me about the blog. Did you think of an original idea?”

“I’m sure there are others out there, but I thought about this bucket list and, well, what if I wrote my own bucket list? One for things I want to do all over the world?”

“Love it. Have you made your list?”

“A few things,” says Arthur. “Go to a World Cup. Go to Carnival in Rio. Have a German beer during Oktoberfest.”

Merlin feels a something pull on his heart and an new feeling of affection fills him. “I think those are great. Can I help you make some?”

“Then they’d be yours.”

“Only add the ones you’d want to use, then.”

Arthur nods. “All right.”

“I want to go to all seven continents. I’ve only been to Europe and now North America.”

“I like that.” Arthur types. “But I’ve already been to all of them except Antarctica, so I’ll write that.”

“I also want to fuck in all seven continents.”

Arthur’s eyes slam shut and he looks as though he wants to laugh. “Are you serious?” He looks over at Merlin.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I can’t post that in a blog.”

Merlin shrugs. “Your loss. Let’s see … be an extra in a movie. Go to Disneyworld. Stay at an ice hotel.”

“You hate being cold.”

“Yeah, but if I’m also fucking in all seven continents then I’d have someone to keep me warm.”

Arthur sniggers. “Uh huh.”

“It’s true. You should really add that one. Probably make your travels a lot more interesting. What else do you have?”

Arthur hesitates. 

“Is it gushy stuff? Like getting married?”

“Yes.”

“And having kids?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“I thought so.”

“You don’t want those things from life?”

“Maybe. Not yet.”

“I don’t mean _now_. But if I think of all the things I want in life, I do wonder what the point of everything is if there isn’t someone to share it with. The last relationship I had, I enjoyed it. I liked liking someone, wanting someone, being excited to see someone.”

That feeling of affection spreads across Merlin’s chest a little more and pulls at his heart again, touches into his shoulders and all the way down to his kidneys. Either he has sudden-onset asthma or something else is making it difficult to breathe.

“Someone,” repeats Merlin. “What about the heartache when you break up?”

“It doesn’t have to end that way, but it’s worth the risk.”

“Yeah? So how come you don’t have anyone right now?”

“My job—”

“You quit your job.”

Arthur looks taken aback at being interrupted. “Well, yes.”

“So you can’t hide behind that any longer.”

“No,” Arthur agrees.

“You just haven’t found someone worth dating?” Merlin challenges. He’s surprised at how soft his voice sounds. Maybe it’s not so much a challenge as a wonderment. 

“I – is that one of your five questions? You only have two left.”

Merlin thinks for a moment. “No. I want to save them.”

Arthur nods and looks back at his laptop and taps away again. He pauses. “If I did have someone worth dating – and I’m not saying I do – then right now I wouldn’t pursue anything because it’s not fair to date someone when I’m figuring out what it takes to make myself happy. I spent so many years jumping from hotel to hotel in various countries and having no ties to anyone or anything, that it’s hard to remember what I even like to do in my free time. I don’t think I could give my full self to someone until I know those things.”

“How do you not know what you like?”

“I didn’t know I liked playing the piano until I started playing for you.”

Merlin wants to die. How can Arthur say these things and act like he doesn’t know how they sound? Merlin is literally going to combust. He wants to grab Arthur, kiss him, tell him to shut the fuck up and together they can figure out what he likes. He wants to undo the buttons of his jeans and do filthy things to him with his mouth. Merlin shifts in his seat; he can feel himself stir inside his trousers and on a plane to Alaska isn’t really where he wants Arthur to find out the effect he has on his body.

“Why don’t you let someone help you find out what else you like? I think you know enough about yourself, the rest is just, like, details.”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you sell yourself short. I think if there was someone you wanted, you’d find they’d want you back. You should let yourself be happy.”

“I can’t do that. If I can’t make myself happy then I cannot truly be happy with someone else.”

“You’ve seemed pretty happy the last few months,” says Merlin.

Arthur doesn’t say anything and Merlin wants to yell at him.

“I also want to ride in a hot air balloon,” he says instead.

Arthur blinks as though surprised. Then, seeming to get his bearings again, types it into his laptop.

…

Alaska is literally freezing his balls off. Arthur gets an Uber to drop them off at a local sporting goods store so they can buy better cold weather attire. Scarves and gloves and for Arthur, since Merlin refuses, a pair of boots. They stroll through the giant REI store while Arthur googles places to stay. Merlin has no idea how Arthur’s mobile even works over here, but he apparently has an “international mobile phone,” whatever the fuck that means.

Arthur finds a cabin on the outskirts of the city that advertises being able to see the Northern Lights from the front porch of any of their cabins. He books the room and they take another Uber to check in. The main building looks like an oversized cabin itself. There are two fireplaces on either side and even though the heat is on inside, the two people behind the front desk still have on sweaters and scarves.

Merlin lets Arthur take care of all the check in necessities while he wanders over to a table covered in brochures. Most of them pertain to the Lights, but there are some takeout menus and concert advertisements. One brochure in particular catches his eye and he picks it up. It’s printed on neon blue paper with thick letters and a crudely drawn cartoon of a man standing with a microphone in his hand. Of all the entertainment they could find in Alaska, Merlin has an advertisement for _Open Mic & Slam Poetry Night_at a coffeeshop near the university. He takes the flyer and folds it up and puts it in his back pocket.

The guy at the front desk ends up helping them throw their stuff in the back of his truck and drives to their cabin. It’s only four or five minutes from the front desk, but far enough away they can’t see it from there. They pass other cabins, but everything seems to be spaced out for privacy. 

The cabin is small and not at all luxurious. After a night in a Camelot hotel, this looks almost medieval. It’s only one room, but has two beds, one double and one twin. There’s a sofa, a table, and a small television that the guy tells them doesn’t get great reception, but has a working DVD player. There’s a kitchenette with bottled water in the fridge. Arthur’s paid for two nights even though they don’t know when they’re going back home to London yet. Merlin half-worries about getting sacked from his job, but he hasn’t so much as called out for being ill in three years, so hopefully they’ll let this pass.

“If you want a ride into the city later, I’m going to dinner at seven and don’t mind taking you.”

“Perfect,” says Merlin. “We’ll be ready. What time?” 

“Give it an hour.”

When they’re alone, Merlin throws his things onto the double bed and flops down on top of his coat and new scarf. 

“Are you going to make me play on another street corner?” Arthur asks.

“No. Slam poetry.”

“Oh god.”

Merlin grins as he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m taking a power nap so I can be fully rested for your dramatic debut.”

“Fantastic,” says Arthur dryly. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to Merlin. “Do you think there’s a reason why Gwaine had all this stuff on his bucket list? I don’t even think he knew how to play the guitar.”

“He knew you did though. He was all about making people happy, wasn’t he?”

“Playing on a street corner didn’t make me happy.”

“Yes, it did,” Merlin argues. “You were amazing and all those people thought so, too. And we left with a bunch of money. You can’t say it wasn’t a mad experience. Fun, but mad.”

“Maybe.” 

Merlin closes his eyes. “I think Gwaine gave you a list of things you needed to do. Each thing has brought you closer to finding out the real Arthur, yeah?” He feels the bed shift next to him as Arthur lays down. 

“How so?”

“Painting the bedroom wall and leaving it for a year. You had to find a place to let for an entire year, so you had to find some temporary permanence in your life. You quit your job and because you were on such a high from that, you went skydiving too. You had your first experience with an adrenaline rush. And now we’re on this mad adventure through Canada and Alaska, which we’re only here partly because of Gwaine and partly because of me. And if it wasn’t for the list then you wouldn’t have really met me, yeah? Which means you wouldn’t have done any of that other stuff. I almost forgot about the drag show, your first foray to a gay bar.” 

Merlin can hear Arthur swallow.

“My first drag show,” he says.

“Mmmm,” agrees Merlin. Then, “Wait, what?” He opens his eyes and turns his head towards Arthur. 

He’s got his eyes closed, his hands locked together on his stomach, his feet crossed at the ankles. 

“You’d been to a gay bar before?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“A few.”

“With who? Blair Goodall?”

“No, not with Blair Goodall. Normally by myself when I was away from home. Foreign country and bored.”

“You go to gay bars when you’re bored?”

“Try to keep up, Merlin.”

Merlin sits up. His brain is ten seconds behind in this conversation. Arthur is admitting he’s gay. That’s what’s happening right now. Fuck a nap, he is fully awake.

“I have some follow-up questions.”

“I thought you wanted to take a nap.”

“I’m no longer tired, thanks.”

Arthur opens his eyes and looks at Merlin. He doesn’t say anything.

“All right, so only when you were away from London?”

“I went a couple times in university. Some of the cities where my father has hotels aren’t exactly accepting of alternative lifestyles, so there were plenty of times I had to make do with my imagination. I wasn’t about to get arrested in a foreign country.”

“So … what? You’d go to a gay bar in an exotic country and find some suave foreign man to fuck?”

“Er,” says Arthur, “… something like that.” He clears his throat.

Merlin watches him, trying to figure more of him out. “So how come you didn’t want me to know you’re gay?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” says Arthur. “I simply never denied nor confirmed it.”

“You never confirmed,” agrees Merlin, “even when I directly asked you.”

“Right.” Arthur sighs. 

“Why?” Merlin steels himself for heartbreak. He can feel the rejection brewing between them as he sits there, staring down at Arthur.

“Is this one of your—”

“Sure,” Merlin snaps, “one of my five questions.”

“You’re really stubborn,” says Arthur. “And you’re gay as well, and it’s hard for me to make friends in general, and even harder if the other man is also gay, and I liked being mates with you. I wanted you to genuinely like me for me and not because you think I’m fit.”

“You think I’m that shallow, do you?”

“No, I didn’t mean.” Arthur sighs again and sits up. “Look. I have a few male mates who know and don’t care. Leon, Gwaine, and Lance. After that, most straight men who find out are either a little weirded out by it, or if they’re gay, they want to immediately sleep with me, and I’ve had enough of that in my life. I know that makes me sound conceited, but I’m not here to sleep around. I’ve done that enough already. I didn’t want you to want me like that. I didn’t want to lead you on if you fancied me, so I simply avoided the question whenever asked.”

Merlin has lost the ability to speak. 

“I hope you aren’t too cross with me.”

“I don’t know what I am,” says Merlin. He shifts and gets up. “I’m going for a walk.” He pulls on his coat. “I’ll see you in an hour.” He doesn’t wait to see if Arthur objects, which he knows he is. It’s cold as shit outside, but he ignores it while he walks through the thin layer of snow on the ground. Who did Arthur really think he was? Purposefully trying to keep Merlin from wanting him. How dare he. 

Merlin shivers; he forgot his scarf and gloves back in the cabin. His heart feels split apart as he begins to realize he’s now stuck in Alaska, over four-thousand miles from home, with a bloke who has no interest in him. Even if they left tomorrow, there would be at least sixteen hours on an airplane together and Merlin has no idea how he’d be able to ignore him for that long. 

He’s had rejection before, lots of it, but none of it ever really hurt. Guys at clubs or bars who say they’re not interested, no big deal. Guys who he’s actually interested in, guys who he wants something more with, no – he’s never had rejection like this. Breaking up with Will was probably the closest he’s ever really gotten to dismissal and heartbreak. This is something else though, something he can’t define or quantify. He’s not in love with Arthur or anything, that would be ridiculous – they’ve only been friends for a few months and haven’t so much as kissed. They might not even be physically compatible. He can’t already be in love with someone he’s never kissed. That would be absurd.

Merlin doesn’t walk far and he makes it back to the cabin in time for the bloke from the check-in counter to pick them up. The guy drives an old truck that rattles and changes gears with a worrisome grind. He talks about the city and the fun things to do, asks how long they’re going to be staying. Arthur engages and Merlin listens. He knows Arthur is being extra to compensate how little enthusiasm he has right now and it makes him feel guilty, but working through the myriad of feelings he has right now is proving to be difficult. 

The guy drops them off at the coffee house. Arthur says thank you and tells him they’ll get an Uber back to the cabin. He pauses before going inside and pulls Merlin away from the front door.

“Listen,” he says.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” says Merlin. “It’s fine.”

“I think I do, though. I don’t think you’re understanding me.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You didn’t want me, so you lied by omission to keep me from fancying you. I get it. Look, you’re still my best mate, and I’m and adult so as soon as I’m done processing everything, I’ll be back to normal. I’ll let you buy me a coffee though as an apology.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin repeats.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” he says. “Sometimes you’re impossible to talk to.”

They go inside where it’s immediately warm. Merlin goes and sits at an empty table near the back of the room and waits for Arthur to come over with their coffees. There’s a short stage on one side of the room, already prepped with a microphone. There’s a standup piano with a bench on one side and a wooden stool on the other. While Arthur waits by the espresso machines, a short barista announces that sign-ups for their open mic night is on a clipboard on the stool. Merlin stands and goes to write Arthur’s name down. He’s still here to keep him on track for finishing that bucket list.

Arthur comes back and hands him a drink with an absurd amount of whipped cream.

“This isn’t coffee, is it?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Hot chocolate.”

“Delightful.” How dare he order someone that Merlin would have ordered for himself.

“Don’t be sarcastic. You know you wouldn’t want a black coffee anyway.”

Merlin curses under his breath; he hates that Arthur knows him so well.

“I put your name on the list. You’re number eight.”

“Fuck.”

Merlin shrugs. “You got a poem?”

“No, of course not. I was going to write one while you took a nap, but you had a fit instead and left and then I couldn’t concentrate.”

Merlin flinches. He didn’t know Arthur was so upset by his leaving. “I’m sorry,” he says genuinely. “I didn’t realize—”

“I’ve never written a poem before. I’m not good at making things rhyme. Excuse me, do you have a pen?” Arthur turns around to the table next to them. A girl with two textbooks in front of her hands over a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper. “Cheers,” says Arthur. She blushes and Merlin rolls his eyes. He watches as Arthur begins to scribble things down on the paper, cross out words, draw arrows as though moving passages back and forth. 

The open mic begins and the first two performers both recite their poems. It’s performance art and while the first bloke is rather lackluster, the second one, an older teenage girl, is magnificent. Merlin hopes Arthur isn’t really paying attention or else he may lose all nerve. The third and sixth performers actually play original songs which prompts Arthur to ask, “If I play the piano, is it still slam poetry?”

“I don’t know. Are there rules to slam poetry? Are there rules to the bucket list?”

“When I’m done, we’re immediately leaving,” Arthur says, his voice low.

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing, just like with everything else you fucking do.”

“You say it like you’re angry about it.”

“Mmm,” says Merlin. “It’s really rough to be perfect at everything and yet be in absolute denial about it.”

It’s Arthur’s turn. He rubs his hands over his face and stands. Then he wrings his hands together as he walks up to the stage. He clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says into the mic. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll beg your forgiveness now.”

There’s a murmur of quiet laughter. A girl shouts, “Who cares, so long as you keep talking in that British accent!”

Merlin can_not _even right now. He smirks out of disbelief and annoyance. 

Arthur clears his throat again. “This is called, _Dear Merlin_.”

“Oh fuck me,” says Merlin. He doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until someone turns around and shushes him.

_Dear Merlin – _

_You helped me paint my bedroom wall red_

_Not knowing I already lived in a house with a red wall _

_One when I was wee_

_Painted with pinot noir and shards of broken glass_

_Painted after the first time I tell my father I _think _I am different_

_You don’t know that red was the wall I had to kneel in front of_

_Praying to a god to fix me_

_Change me_

_The indecency, the impropriety _

_Red of the wall where the crucifix was nailed _

_Like a reminder that my sins were not worth dying for_

_The filth, the obscenity – pray it away in front of that wall_

_You don’t know that I painted the floor in salt and blood_

_The first time I tell him I _know_I’m different _

_Train up a child in the way he should go, he says_

_And when he is old, he will not depart from it, he says_

_He trains me and trains me and tells me – _

_Crying is for girls and prayers cannot be heard through tears_

_But my knees are too calloused now to kneel before god anyway_

_So everyday _

_I pass the red wall and we pretend I’m mute – _

_He cannot understand what I’m saying anyhow_

_He cannot hear what I’m shouting even though my mouth stays closed_

_I grow taller, the wall grows smaller, and the red fades away_

_You can’t see it, but I still can_

_You don’t know that I think about pinot noir _

_Every time I look at the wall we painted_

_Wondering what would happen if I’d kept my mouth shut_

_All those years ago_

_But I wouldn’t know how to grow up without a red wall_

_And I wouldn’t want to change what is today_

_For a wall of any other color_

Everyone in the room claps, several people whistle, and Arthur simply walks off stage, goes to their table, grabs his coat and nods for Merlin to follow him. Merlin watches him exit the coffee shop and barely registers himself throwing his coat on as he he follows. He’s pretty sure he caught the meaning in Arthur’s performance, but didn’t he tell him, only a couple hours ago, that he didn’t want Merlin to fall for him? Merlin’s brain literally hurts right now.

Merlin zips up his coat as he leaves the coffeehouse. It’s so cold outside his bones hurt.

Arthur is to the side of the front door, on the sidewalk, hands on his knees, breathing in and out. Maybe he’s having a panic attack – which would really serve him right. When he sees Merlin, he stands, but Merlin puts his hands on his chest and pushes him.

It’s not hard, not violent, but with just enough force that Arthur stumbles a step.

“What the hell, Merlin?”

“Are you seriously saying that to _me_right now? What the fuck was that back there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You tell me you purposefully avoided the question because you didn’t want me—”

“You are so goddamn stubborn!” Arthur snaps. “Will you shut up for one second?”

Merlin frowns but complies. He presses his lips together and waits.

“I wasn’t in a place a few months ago to be in a relationship. I’m not even sure I’m really ready now. But I knew I didn’t want to sleep with you and ruin whatever friendship we did have. I didn’t want you to want me because I knew I couldn’t make this” – he gestures between them – “something meaningful. I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t want you in return. I do. I have. For a while now. I don’t want any more one-nighters. I want someone I can _be _with, but I didn’t have anything to offer.”

“But now you have something to offer?” Merlin says.

“When you asked me about it on the plane. I told you I didn’t know I liked the piano until I started playing for you. It made me realize that that’s true. I’ve learned more about myself in the last few months than I had in the last twenty years of my life – because of you. I’m better than I was before Gwaine’s bucket list.”

“Okay.”

Arthur takes another step backward, a confused look on his face. “Did you say … okay? What does that mean?”

“It means … I don’t know. I’m not sure what to say.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I could murder you sometimes.”

“Yeah, that feeling is, like, totally mutual.”

“I can’t tell if you’re angry right now.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I’m trying to figure out exactly what you’re saying.”

“I’m _saying _– I want you.”

“But if I say I only want to fuck you? Then what?”

Arthur flinches. “Do you have to be so crass?”

“No, I just like making you uncomfortable.”

“I take it all back.”

“You can’t! You already admitted you fancy me!” Merlin teases. “You like me. You—”

Arthur steps forward and presses his mouth to Merlin’s, conveniently shutting him up. Merlin accepts the kiss and then pushes himself into it, opening his lips slightly. The kiss is soft, but intense. Merlin is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. Arthur pulls away, but stays close. They’re both breathing harder than normal and their breaths cloud together in the cold air.

“I don’t have anything to offer,” says Arthur. “I’m still figuring out who I am and what I like. The only constant in my life right now that really makes any sense is you.”

“I’ll help you figure out the rest. Figure out what you like. You don’t have to offer me anything other than just you. I don’t need anything. I have everything I need, I like my life, but you make it better. Happier. Well, happier even though I quite often want to throttle you.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees.

Merlin cups Arthur’s cheek in his hand, runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Can we go back to the cabin?”

Arthur nods. “Absolutely.”

…

When they get back, Arthur goes inside and gets Merlin’s scarf and gloves. He brings out a blanket and they sit on the steps in front of the cabin. It’s so late and Merlin is so jetlagged. He has no idea what time it is in Alaska and he has no idea what time it is back home, and he’s craving chips but also eggs. Arthur brings cinnamon flavored pop tarts from the kitchen and they both bemoan Americans while they eat them.

The sky is dark, with stars around the edges, but in the center is a dancing green light, surrounded by purple. It’s magnificent and looks like magic. Nothing this beautiful could possibly be natural. Merlin is pressed firmly against Arthur’s side and they sit in the below-freezing temperatures just watching the view. The hood of Merlin’s coat is pull tightly around his face, carefully covering his ears, but the cold nips away at his nose and mouth. He has on three pairs of socks and the blanket is the thickest he’s ever seen. Arthur next to him also helps to keep him warm, however Merlin is pretty certain it has more to do with nerves than actual body heat.

“So your poem,” Merlin begins.

“Yeah?”

“Did your father really make you pray the gay away? That’s what you meant, yeah?”

Arthur takes his eyes off the sky and looks at Merlin. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“I was ten or eleven when I told him I fancied a boy at school and he threw his wine glass. It really did stain the wall behind me for years.”

“And how old were you when you confirmed you were gay?”

“Fifteen.”

“And he hated it?”

“I don’t know. Obviously it conflicted with his traditional Christian values, but now it’s something we don’t talk about. He said he would change my job to London if I had a reason to stay there – meaning a girlfriend. I think he liked to send me around the world so he wouldn’t have to face having a gay son. I’m not sure which would be worse for him, either … having everyone judge him for accepting his gay son, or being scrutinized for rejecting his gay son. After my mum died, we left the house and stayed in the penthouse at his London hotel. Obviously didn’t have a red wall anymore, but that crucifix came along and reminded me of it. He still owns the other house, you know. It’s empty. I don’t think he can bear to sell it because of my mum.”

“I can’t imagine,” says Merlin. “Is that why Gwaine chose red for your wall?”

“Not sure, really. I never told him that story. The only person who saw was Morgana. She does have a big mouth, though.”

“True,” Merlin agrees. “Gwaine seemed to know things. Anyway, I had no idea you were such a good poet.”

“I like to write.”

“You’re exceptional.”

“You’ve got to stop complimenting me. You make it sound like I’m amazing, but you have good qualities, too.”

“Oh yeah?” challenges Merlin. “Then that’s my last question. Will you tell me all the qualities that you like about me?”

Arthur groans. “You want to waste your last question on that?”

“Yes,” Merlin confirms. He sits up straight and turns to face Arthur. “I’m ready.”

Arthur stands and begins to fold the blanket. “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing and you’re tired.”

“You’re not getting off that easily,” Merlin says, but follows him. The cabin is warmer than outside, but there’s still a chill in the air as he takes off his heavy coat, hat, and scarf. He watches as Arthur does the same. They both toe off their shoes, pull off their socks, and then Arthur is in front of him, kissing him.

“No, no,” Merlin protests, but makes no effort to pull away. He feels like he might throw up or explode. Maybe both. 

Arthur does pull away, just slightly, his mouth still hovering over Merlin’s. His fingers ghost along the column of Merlin’s throat. “This,” he whispers and his breath is hot against Merlin’s lips, “the dip right here, just under your Adam’s apple.” The back of his hand traces lines down Merlin’s shoulder, down his arm. “These tattoos, even the carefully hidden Harry Potter one. Reminds me how whimsical you are. And this one” – his fingers circle Merlin’s wrist – “your mother’s birthdate. Reminds me how much you love.”

Merlin can hear his heart beat between his ears. It’s literally the loudest thing he’s ever heard in his life. 

“I like everything about you. How you push me and refuse to pity me for anything. How you brought me blankets when my heating was out, how you helped me with my bucket list even though you didn’t have to.”

Merlin grimaces and pulls away. “Er,” he says. “About that.”

“What?”

He turns and sits on the edge of the bed. “I kind of had to.”

“What does that mean?”

Merlin shifts so he can pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He opens it and takes out a small piece of paper that he has folded into fours. He hands it to Arthur to read.

  1. _Make sure Arthur completes his bucket list_

Arthur stares at the paper.

“I swear to god, if you overthink this, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“So. Huh.” Arthur sits down next to him, eyes still on the paper.

“Okay, listen—”

“So when I came into your tattoo shop…”

“I knew why you were there, and that’s why I immediately wanted to help you with the bucket list, but Arthur, that’s not why I’m here. I mean, you invited me. I could’ve stayed home, but I wanted to come. I only have one stupid thing from Gwaine’s list. You have ten. Gwaine knew you needed me.”

“Yeah? And what did you need?”

“You,” says Merlin. 

“Why? You were doing fine without me.”

Merlin shrugs. “I mean, sure. I was happy. My life was good – it still is. But, Jesus, Arthur, it was like Gwaine knew we needed each other. He knew you’d need someone to push you to actually do his bucket list. And he must have known how perfect you were for me, too. I thought I was in love with Will, but now I know how wrong I was.”

Arthur’s eyes snap up to Merlin’s. Oh god. He just heard what he said and now he definitely is going to either throw up or explode from embarrassment. 

“Too soon,” says Merlin, “I didn’t mean it. I was caught up in the moment.”

Arthur smirks. “No, you weren’t. Your brain is always about five seconds slower than your mouth.”

“Please don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to make fun of you. You are going to have to get used to that.”

Merlin nods. “Sure, whatever. Will you start kissing me again? That was more fun than this.”

Arthur laughs and complies.

…

They fall asleep in a tangled of limbs and when Merlin wakes up, he is curled up next to Arthur. He carefully removes his arms and legs and quietly gets up. He throws on a sweatshirt and walks into the bathroom. The familiar morning funk sits heavily on his tongue and he wets his toothbrush and grabs the toothpaste. He’s mid-brush when arms wrap around his middle, hands making their way under his shirt.

Arthur kisses his neck. “Morning.”

Merlin meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror. His mouth is all foamy. 

“How’d you sleep?”

Merlin shrugs. He leans over and spits into the sink. “Fine, I guess. You?”

“Same.”

Merlin moves out of the way while Arthur cleans his teeth. Last night they kissed and touched, mostly innocently, and now it’s all sunlight in foreign lands and he hopes Arthur doesn’t look at him differently now that things have changed. He might literally die from embarrassment if that happens.

“Are you all right?”

Merlin snaps his attention back to Arthur. “Oh, quite. Sorry.”

“I was thinking, stay the day in town, see some sites, if there are any, and then one more night outside with the lights? Trek back home in the morning?”

Merlin nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“You look like you might be sick.”

“Er, not looking forward to the plane rights home.”

Arthur takes a step closer, taking up most of Merlin’s personal space, pressing him against the doorframe, and then slowly leaning in until their mouths barely touch.

“Maybe this time you’ll have something better to distract yourself with?” He kisses him. “Plane ride might not seem so bad?”

“If you do this all flight?” Merlin’s hands reach for Arthur’s hips. “Definitely.”

They spend the day in Fairbanks, eat at two lovely restaurants, and spend most of the night outside watching the lights. Merlin has never worn so many layers of clothes, and they keep having to run back inside the cabin to warm up before going back out to look at the lights again. It’s weird and ridiculous, but somehow delightfully fun.

Arthur isn’t one for overt displays of affection, which isn’t a shock. He’s very subtle. Surreptitious touches to the small of his back, the inside of his elbow. A knee knocking into his his under a table. A hand on his shoulder fourteen seconds too long. A brush of lips against his ear – better than any secret told. It seems so normal that Merlin cannot believe they haven’t been doing this all along. It feels like something that should have always been.

Earlier in the day, Arthur spoke with someone from British Airways, asking for whatever random route of flights would get them back in London the quickest. They will fly out in the morning and go directly to Chicago, then a connecting flight to Miami with a long enough layover that they’ll have to find a hotel. Finally, another flight will take them straight to Heathrow. It sounds fairly terrible to Merlin, and he already has no idea what day of the week it is, or even the time, and jumping through time zones isn’t going to help. 

When it’s time for bed, Merlin is shivering and has to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Arthur tries to kiss him, but he can’t stop shaking, which only makes Arthur laugh in that fond way that drives Merlin mad. 

It’s easy to lose himself when Arthur touches him. It’s the light presses of his lips into his skin, the run of his fingers down his sides, the grip of his hands on his hips. When Arthur takes him into his mouth, Merlin presses his fists into his eyes and tries to steady his breathing. There’s something overwhelming about this in a way he isn’t expecting, and he doesn’t want it to be over, so he lets Arthur continue until he cannot take it any longer, and pushes up against him.

“My turn,” he says, his voice thick and low. He pulls Arthur up the length of his body so they’re face to face, and goes to turn him over when – _whoops_. “Oh holy fuck!”

Arthur lets out a loud laugh and grabs his arm before he falls off the edge of the bed. “Don’t do that!”

Merlin lets himself get pulled back up. “Don’t laugh – it’s not funny.”

Arthur smirks. “It’s pretty funny.”

“I almost died.”

“You did not almost die.”

Merlin settles himself between Arthur’s legs, and looks appreciatively up Arthur’s naked body. He’s about to take bloody _Arthur _into his mouth. Yes, _please_, he’s only been wanting this for ages now and—

“Are you still laughing at me?”

Arthur’s body shakes. “I’m sorry!” He sits up on his elbows and looks down at Merlin. “Your face was so priceless when you almost toppled off the bed.”

“If you want me to suck your cock down, you’re going to need to shut up.”

Arthur grinned. “So dirty, Merlin.”

“Listen, there’s an art to this that’s ruined when the other person can’t stop laughing.”

Arthur mimics zipping his mouth shut, but he continues to look at Merlin. His smile turns from amused to tender, and Merlin groans.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

“Why?” Arthur asks. “How am I looking at you?”

“All loving. That doesn’t work when I’m trying to do nasty things to you.”

Arthur waves a hand. “Get on with it, then,” and lays back down.

This time Merlin smirks and sniggers before opening his mouth. It’s lovely and fun, and Merlin tries to commit every noise Arthur makes to memory. Fingers tangle in his hair and when Arthur comes, Merlin takes all of him in. After, Arthur yanks him up, and kisses him – which fuels Merlin on in a way he isn’t expecting – and then brings Merlin off with his hands.

When they finally lay down for sleep, Arthur begins to snore very quietly and almost immediately. Merlin, on the other hand, is wide awake, marveling that he embarrassed himself during sex, got laughed at, and then managed to not only banter back and forth, but to get off at the end of it. There was a level of comfort and ease with the whole thing. No awkwardness. 

It feels effortless. 

Merlin wonders if this is what it is always going to be like with Arthur. Effortless. There will surely be trying moments, arguments and disagreements, but in between the yelling or bickering, before and after, will it still be this easy? He’s never experienced an effortless love. The thought keeps him up for several more hours and when the alarm goes off, he’s barely felt as though he’s slept at all.

…

Merlin does not remember getting to the airport. He’s ready to take a nap on the plane and luckily they’re sitting in a row with only two seats. What a dream. He takes the seat next to the window, closes the shade, and readies himself for sleep. Arthur settles in next to him and takes out his laptop. There’s supposedly a stop in Seattle, but they don’t have to get off the plane, before going to Chicago. The whole thing will take about eight hours, and then another three to Miami. Merlin is pretty sure he’s going to have his fill of airplanes and airports by the time they land in London.

He does nap for a little bit, but it’s not particularly restful. Arthur is tapping away on his keyboard, but Merlin feels pretty confident he can get him to focus all his attention on him if he asks – except he doesn’t need to because as soon as Arthur notices Merlin is awake, he closes his laptop and turns to him. His tray table is down and an unopen bottle of water and pack of cookies is on top. 

“Feel better?”

Merlin shrugs. 

“It’s the same films as last time.” Arthur nods towards the screen on the back of the seats in front of them. 

“Oh, right. Is that for me?” Merlin takes the water and cookies. “Thanks.”

“My employees numbers still work so I booked a room in Miami.”

“Free?”

“Of course.”

“Brilliant. Does it feel weird to stay in your father’s hotel?”

“It’ll be fine. It’s not as though I am going to run into him. I know you feel weird about me paying for everything so it seemed like a good compromise.”

“I just … you shouldn’t have to pay for everything.”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. So, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Merlin considers this. “No. I always wanted to be an artist. My uncle owns the shop. I apprenticed when I was really young. I’d like to own my own one day. I have a lot of followers and a lot of repeat customers.”

“Followers where?”

“Online. I post pictures of all the tattoos I do. There’s, like, ten-thousand people who follow me.”

“I had no idea.”

Merlin shrugs. “We’ve never really talked about it.”

“I don’t do any social media.”

“Shocking.”

“So do you only post pictures of your tattoos?”

“No,” says Merlin, shaking his head. “I post a lot of things. Whenever I do Olive’s makeup or if I draw something. Pictures of me with friends.”

Arthur looks as though he wants to ask a question, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve never posted anything about you, in case you’re curious. I didn’t think you’d want to be, like, on Instagram.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. So, what’s stopping you from opening up your own place?”

“Money. I have a savings account for it. My uncle is afraid of losing customers so he doesn’t say no to anyone and I have to work the hours he wants me to work, and I want more control over my life.”

“If you didn’t do tattoos, what else would you want to do?”

Merlin thinks. “Well, I don’t rightly know. I like drawing. I like art. I would have no idea what to do with that, though. I’ve never really had the luxury of thinking about anything else because I’ve always, like … needed a real job.”

“I get it.”

“Do you? I’m assuming that not having a job for six months was on Gwaine’s bucket list because he knew you could afford it.”

Arthur shrugs. “Think about it. I made my wages but didn’t have a house or a flat. I have a car that I kept parked at my father’s hotel, but it’s been paid for. I pay for my mobile. I don’t really have any other bills, so everything I made has been sitting in an account for years. I don’t really want for a lot of material things, honestly.”

“That’s the dream – an account full of money,” Merlin jokes.

“Does it make you feel weird? That I have more money than you?”

“Why should it?” Truthfully, it doesn’t bother Merlin, but he doesn’t want to be made to feel like a charity case. He doesn’t want Arthur to pity him because he lives paycheck to paycheck. If Merlin doesn’t feel badly about himself, then neither should Arthur. Merlin blinks and looks over at Arthur. Whoops – he should probably tell him all of this instead of staring at him blankly. 

“Can I ask you another question?” Arthur asks. “It’s completely off topic, but … I’ve always felt there was more to the story with you and Will.”

“That’s not a question.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Is there more to the story with you and Will?” He says it mockingly and Merlin appreciates his humor. 

“If I answer that, then you have to tell me about the black eye you got when you gave your father your resignation letter.”

Arthur grimaces, but relents. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Merlin takes in a deep breath. “Ugh, I really was hoping to never have to tell you this story, but, uh, here goes. Will was my best mate all through school. Even before year one. We were always together. I had my first boyfriend when I was seventeen. He _hated _him. It was this really weird thing between them. Mutual jealousy. I thought because Will was used to me being available all the time and then suddenly I wasn’t. I ended up breaking up with the guy and Will was better.”

“He sounds like an arse.”

“No, he really wasn’t, I promise. It wasn’t like that. Anyway. After we were done with school, I had this new boyfriend. We were older now and Will had a girlfriend, and I liked his girlfriend, she was honestly delightful. But he _hated _my boyfriend. It was wild. Like, even worse than before. And we were at a party one night, totally pissed out of our minds, and we kissed. I broke up with my boyfriend, and he broke up with his girlfriend, and we were together for the next couple of years. We moved into that house. I don’t know.”

“Why did you break up?”

Merlin has never said this aloud before. He runs it through his head a couple of times, trying to see how it’ll sound. “Because I don’t think he was gay. I don’t even think he was bi. I think we were so very, very close for so long that the lines were strangely blurred. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

“He must have been somewhere in the gay spectrum in some capacity to sleep with you, right?”

Merlin shrugs. “I really don’t know.” He presses his hands to his cheeks; surely he’s blushing like a bloody tomato right now. “This is so embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to know what happened to your face that day. Look, I thought I was in love with him, and I thought that meant I should put up with anything and everything. Our sex life was completely skewed. It’s the only time I’ve ever bottomed – which isn’t my thing – and, well, he gave me head maybe three times in more than three years. I don’t think he could ever reconcile being with me like that. And when we fought about it – it broke my heart how upset he was by the whole thing. I used to talk to Gwaine about it, actually.”

“Gwaine? Really? What would he say?”

“He said he thought Will really was gay and too screwed up in the head to admit it. I really didn’t think so. I finally couldn’t do it anymore, we broke up mutually. Stay in touch. We’re friends still. It’s very different than it used to be, but we do still talk. I don’t think his girlfriend realizes our past and I would never tell her.”

“So you’ve met her?”

“Yes, she’s pretty nice. A little boring, but then again I do makeup for drag shows and apparently fly across the ocean with strange men, so my sense of what’s not boring may be a little different than hers. But, like, I think we had a bromance. We were very close, talked about a lot of personal things, and somehow we both turned it into something it wasn’t. I think if we were both straight it wouldn’t have happened. That’s my theory. I tried to talk to him a few times about it after we broke up, but he refuses to acknowledge that part of our lives together so I don’t bring it up anymore.”

“That’s … that’s a lot,” says Arthur. “I’m not sure how to unravel all of it.”

“I’m over all of it. I’ve clearly moved on. I don’t really think about it much anymore. It taught me a lot about myself and a lot about what I am willing to put up with in a relationship.”

“Yeah?”

Merlin nods. “Definitely. This thing between us has been less than forty-eight hours long, right? Already feels different than anything else.”

Arthur seems to be pondering this. “But you lived in that house. You’ve come over, obviously, but I’m hoping when we get back you’ll be over more often. Overnight.”

“Oh yeah?” Merlin grins. “It’s just a house,” he says. “Besides, what’s wrong with my flat? You’ve never even been to it.”

“You have flatmates.”

“So?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m too old to deal with being quiet because someone’s flatmate wants to go to sleep.”

Merlin’s eyes widen. “Did you just say – I cannot believe you said that. I figured you were too posh to be dirty.” He grins widely, almost evilly. “I love it.”

“Well, I guess it’s my turn, yeah?” says Arthur. “About my black eye.”

“I’m ready,” says Merlin eagerly. 

“I quite literally ran into a door.”

“What?”

Arthur sighs. “I gave my father the letter. At first he was really angry with me for quitting. He said he didn’t raise quitters. I told him I meant everything I wrote. I wanted him to quit thinking of me as an employee. He said it was easier that way. Easier to treat me as a project manager instead of his son because then he could compartmentalize my affliction, if you will. He asked me _why now _over and over again. _Why now_?” Arthur shrugs.

“Okay … but …” Merlin motions over his own eye. “That’s, like, not the story.”

“I’m getting there. He got really sad at the end. I thought he might cry. But then that look came into his eyes – the same one he had when he made me kneel and pray when I was a teenager. He stuck out his hand, I thought to hit me, and I stepped back, fell over the leg of his armchair, and smashed my face against the door.” Arthur mimics a slam to the face. “Turns out he was going to shake my hand as though I was the end of a transaction. My employment was no longer needed so, handshake, thank you and goodbye.”

“That’s both wonderful and terrible.”

“It’s not one of my finer moments, no. Still, when I think back on it, he truly seemed sad.”

“Yeah, you were his best project manager, of course he was sad. Probably paid you bloody low since you were his kid – loyalty and all – and he was sad he was going to have to pay someone else more.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Please. Anyway, there’s the story.”

“I can’t imagine someone making me kneel down and pray that I was no longer gay.”

“Right.”

“Wasn’t that traumatic?”

“I don’t,” Arthur begins but then closes his mouth. He sits back in the chair, his head firmly against the headrest. “I grew up going to church every Sunday. We gave thanks before every meal. I took Latin so I could go to a traditional Catholic mass. Everything we did was Christian. Praying was something that seemed common, but when my father made me pray, I would take a pause before speaking aloud and tell God I didn’t mean it. I never felt as though anyone ever heard me when I prayed, but just in case I was wrong, I wanted to be sure God knew not to change me. Luckily we had enough money when I was a teenager that I could easily get away. Whenever friends went on holiday, I joined them, or I took extra music lessons, or holed myself up in my room.”

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to not be gay.”

“I remember.”

“Do you ever wish you weren’t?” Merlin asks.

Arthur turns his head. “Sometimes I think it would be easier. Some of the countries I was in, it’s illegal to be gay. Or at least to act upon it. Being there for months and months was difficult. Boring, and the other members of the team would always try to set me up with a woman and I would very quickly run out of excuses. I could never say ‘I like men,’ because I could be arrested.”

“And yet you continued to go to those countries.”

“Yes, it was my job. I think it would be easier to be straight, but this is all I’ve ever known, and honestly, I don’t think I’d really want to know what it would be like to be any other way.”

“Good,” says Merlin. “That’s a bit of a relief.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. 

“Would you give your father a chance if he came back around and apologized?”

“I can’t imagine that ever happening, to be honest. But … I don’t know. My mother never would have let it get to this point. She would have made sure of that. You know that song I played for you? The one that she said was hers?”

Merlin nods. “Yes.”

“She told me once, _it’s what will be playing when I watch you from Heaven, over and over again. The soundtrack to how much I love you_.”

“Is that when you think of whenever I make you play it?”

Arthur nods.

Something inside Merlin breaks. It’s like a dam, a rush of emotions, all mixed together and tremendous swirling around. Love and sadness. Admiration and gratitude. It’s too much and he can’t control it. Everything Arthur has ever had to deal with in his life, secrets lined with money to hide them all away in perfect penthouse suites, it’s all too much for Merlin to bear. He reaches for Arthur, grabs the front of his shirt, and pulls him close. He can’t _not _kiss him right now. He tries to press everything he feels into that kiss.

Arthur returns it, opening his mouth for Merlin. He lets it go on for several moments, but pulls away first and laughs fondly. “I didn’t know my tragedy of a childhood would rev you up like this.”

“I just. It’s like.” Merlin shakes his head. “You should be, like, really fucked up with all that happened to you.”

“I am. Remember the poetry slam? You were pretty angry with me before and even after that.”

“Because you’re insane thinking you’re not enough for me.”

Arthur shrugs as though Merlin just made his point for him. Merlin smirks. He gets it now. 

“Okay, but Blair Goodall. Totally a bloke, right?”

Arthur laughs again. “Yes, totally a bloke.”

…

Miami is surprisingly not as hot as Merlin expected, however given the below-freezing temperatures they left in Alaska, it’s an absolute sauna. They go to the hotel and Arthur checks in as discretely as possible and they take their stuff to the guestroom. It’s late, after dinnertime, but Merlin is feeling wired. Probably the three naps he took on the plane rides between Alaska and Florida.

“Time for another bucket list item,” Arthur says, and sneaks them off downstairs.

The indoor pool is always locked overnight, but Arthur knows a secret way to get in. No one else is there, and Arthur doesn’t turn any of the lights on. There’s a skylight that lets in just enough moon that everything glows a bit blue around the edges.

Merlin’s seen Arthur complete starkers, yet watching him undress still feels unreal. He’s fit, but not overly defined. Thin, but not slender. It’s this perfect mix that catches Merlin’s breath in the middle of his throat. He sheds his own clothes and dives in after him. 

Arthur splashes him playfully and they snog near the deep end, feet flat on the bottom, but water up by their chins. They don’t stay too long, but Arthur says he’s hungry so after they steal some hotel towels to dry off, they walk down the street to a convenience store. They could have done room service, but neither of them wanted to wait. Merlin grabs a handbasket and throws in some potato chips and M&Ms into it. Arthur gets some bottled water and Merlin grabs a Red Bull. 

“In case I need energy later,” he says.

Arthur rolls his eyes.

They check out and Arthur taps his credit card before Merlin can object. The clerk eyes them both before throwing all their stuff into a black plastic bag. They leave the air conditioning and go back out into the heat. It’s dark out, but the air is thick with something, maybe impending rain. Merlin isn’t sure, but it’s eerily calm out. He’s not familiar enough with Florida to know if this actually means anything. They walk silently back. Before they get to the hotel front, Arthur stops them on the sidewalk. He hands the plastic bag of junk food to Merlin. 

“I marked another one off the list,” he says. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls something out. He hands it to Merlin. “I nicked it.”

Merlin looks at the small box blankly, then when he realizes what it is, he laughs. “You shoplifted condoms?”

Arthur shrugs. “Figured if I’m going to nick something, I better make it something useful.”

Merlin whimpers slightly. “And you did it for right now, right? Like, we go back to that hotel room and I use these on you?”

Arthur’s cheeks redden. He doesn’t say anything, so Merlin takes it as a yes.

“Brilliant,” says Merlin. “Let’s do this.”

He barely registers getting back to the hotel or taking the lifts up to their floor. He downs the Red Bull and opens one of Arthur’s bottled waters. Originally he imagined coming back to this room, eating half a bag of vinegar chips, blowing Arthur before going to bed. This, though, is way better. Fuck the vinegar chips.

Once inside their room, Arthur takes control. He pushes Merlin up against the closed door, trapping him. Arthur pulls up his shirt, undoes his jeans, and Merlin lets him. Arthur’s hands are everywhere, making parts of Merlin tingle that he never thought could be turned on. His body buzzes and it’s all very intense, yet not at all frenzied. Then, Arthur grabs both of Merlin’s hands and pulls him towards the bed.

“Finish taking off your clothes,” Arthur says as he starts to take off his own. 

Merlin complies. He kicks off his sneakers, throws his jeans on the floor behind him, and has his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers to pull them down when Arthur tells him to hurry up.

“You’re awfully bossy for someone who is about to get thoroughly buggered.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “What part of being a bottom means I can’t be in charge?”

“Er … well, nothing, I guess.”

“If that’s something you don’t like, then we should stop now. Otherwise, yes, I’ll probably boss you around. It’s kind of my thing. It’s uncontrollable.”

Merlin’s heart misses a beat. “Fantastic,” he says, and he means it. “I’m here for this.”

Really, Arthur isn’t too bossy – he’s more of a director. Merlin loves it, literally loves it. There’s a simplicity to it. It’s all very slow at first. Merlin maps out Arthur’s body with his mouth, committing every freckle, mole, and scar to memory. He bits on Arthur’s earlobe, marks his shoulder. He knows he has the condoms on the bedside table, ready to be used, but that will mean this will be over and he wants it to last forever.

When Arthur has had enough, he flips them over so Merlin is on his back. “I want to hear every moan or groan you make, so I’ll know where your torture spots are.” Merlin groans immediately – clearly hearing Arthur speak in that low, husky-thick voice is one of them. A voice already laced with sex and inuendo. 

The inside of Merlin’s thigh, the sharp point of his hip. The back of his elbow, the knob of his wrist bone. Lips pressed against those, fingers circling, pressing, massaging – enough to make Merlin cry out a strangled, torturous moan – and it is _glorious_. Merlin lets himself relax and feel and enjoy before it all gets to be too much and he’s ready to bury himself inside Arthur. 

“Hey,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur up so they’re facing each other again. “I’m, like, ready for this.”

Arthur nods and kisses him. There’s a small bottle of lube, which Arthur gives to Merlin. He has no idea where it came from, but maybe it was nicked along with the condoms. He uses it on Arthur, almost reverently, taking his time to do it right – but not too long because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t come soon he’s going to be driven mad by want. Arthur puts the condom on him, uses more lube, and then guides Merlin to him.

Merlin sinks in; everything is impossibly tight and warm – and when he moves the friction clouds his brain and all he can do it be in the moment, surrounded by the bass of Arthur’s moans and whispers for “_more_.” He tries to open his eyes so he can watch, but instead he finds Arthur’s mouth again and kisses him, wanting to be more connected to him than he already is. It’s like they’re this one thing, one person, connected, fluid. Pieces from two different puzzles that accidentally fit. 

He feels Arthur’s heels against the back of his thighs. He’s being pulled further in, closer. This might literally be what kills him, the overwhelming sensations of being inside Arthur, fucking him after being in love with him for the last few months. After they both come – Merlin first and then Arthur – Merlin doesn’t move. Instead he presses kisses all along Arthur’s jawline and down his neck. He’s afraid of breaking this link. 

“That was—” Merlin begins, but is unsure how to finish it.

“Yeah,” says Arthur with a shrug, “not the best.”

Merlin jerks away. “_What_?”

Arthur shrugs again.

Merlin is definitely going to throw up.

“Sorry, I’m only joking. You were great.”

“That’s not funny.”

“A little bit,” says Arthur, his voice spiked with laughter. “You looked like you were going to have a heart attack.”

“I was!” Merlin cries. 

Arthur sits up and takes Merlin’s face in his hands. “It was perfect, I promise.” He kisses him and Merlin already knows this is it for him, forever. And it’s scary, and he’s definitely not going to say it aloud, but, well, yeah. This is the end.

The alarm Arthur sets for the next morning comes too soon. Merlin showers and brushes his teeth. Last night he wasn’t anxious about going home, but now he is. The thought of what might change when they go back to their separate homes and separate jobs and separate lives. Arthur doesn’t seem nervous at all. He’s in an uncharacteristically good mood, which if getting laid is all it takes to bring out that loose smile on his face, Merlin wants to make sure they do it every day. 

Outside of the room, Arthur still seems happy, although more subdued. He’s careful about the way he touches Merlin, just as he was two days ago in Alaska. The plane ride home is long, as were all the other plane rides, and they’re stuck in the middle again, nowhere near a window. They watch two movies and Merlin eats six packs of cookies. He wants to sneak off into the loo and touch Arthur until he comes again, but the flight is full and Arthur may not be quite as adventurous as Merlin is – yet. 

After they land, they go to baggage claim and then outside to catch an Uber. Merlin pauses, unsure if he should get his own. It’s nearly eleven at night and it’s too late to call his uncle to tell him he’ll be at work tomorrow, but he needs to go back so he can start earning wages again. However, if his uncle doesn’t even know he’s in the country again, then if he waits until tomorrow to tell him, he could have another day with Arthur before they have to go back to reality.

“Do you have any clean clothes in my bag?” Arthur asks.

“Er…”

“If you do, then why don’t you come back to mine tonight and we’ll deal with getting you home tomorrow?”

Merlin nods. “Yeah. Sure. All right.”

Arthur smirks, rolls his eyes fondly, and orders the Uber.

“What about after that?” asks Merlin. 

“What do you mean?”

“After tomorrow.”

Arthur shrugs. “No idea. But I still have one more thing on my bucket list. I think you’ll be an integral part of completing it.”

“I’m ready for it,” says Merlin, and he means it.

…

  1. _ Do something permanent_
  2. _ <strike>Paint one wall in your bedroom </strike><strike>RED </strike>and leave it for an entire year_
  3. _ <strike>Go to a drag show</strike>_
  4. _<strike> Go skydiving</strike>_
  5. _<strike> Quit your job & don’t get another one for 6 months</strike>_
  6. _<strike> Go to the airport, pick a random airline, & buy tickets to a flight leaving exactly 2 hours from now (& no more than 3 hours)</strike>_
  7. _<strike> Perform at a slam poetry night</strike>_
  8. _<strike> Go skinny dipping</strike>_
  9. _<strike> Play guitar on a street corner & find someone to sing w/ you</strike>_
  10. _<strike> Shoplift</strike>_

…

**Part Three**

**Buckets:**

**A Dying Wish List Turned Life List**

Post 1.0

This morning I woke up to a headline that I never thought I would see. It was in several news sources, mostly page six sort of thing, nothing front page, but for me, it is the biggest news story I have ever read. _Camelot Hotel Group founder pulls funding for all charities with anti-LGBTQ ties_. The headline was followed by a statement from my father, announcing that while he still upholds Christian values, he cannot continue to uphold values of hate groups. It is perhaps the closest thing he has ever done to accepting me.

Fourteen months ago, I said goodbye to Gwaine, one of my best mates. We both knew he was going to die before it happened; we knew it as soon as the doctor told him the cancer was already stage four. He wrote out a bucket list, seventy-five things he wanted to do before he died. Number one on the list was to get a tattoo, and I went with him to the parlor and sat while he was inked by an artist named Merlin. It was easy to help him tick items off his bucket list; it was our way of talking to him about dying without having to actually use the words. The word _death _sounds too harsh to be said out loud. Gwaine never made it to number 75. He wanted all his friends to finish the list for him. I got numbers 47 to 56. Ten things I had to do that were honestly quite terrifying and completely out of character. Except it changed my life. 

Fourteen years ago, I said goodbye to my mother. We both knew she was going to die before it happened; we knew it as soon as the doctor told her that chemotherapy wasn’t working. When I first learned to play the piano, she would help me practice. We would play duets and make a game out of who could play Flight of the Bumblebee the fastest (hint: it was always her). Towards the end she would play me the saddest songs she knew and tell me how much she loved me. Over and over again, as though she wanted it imprinted inside me, her last words, our last song together. 

When my mother died, I hid. I hid in the penthouse of my father’s hotel. I hid in the rooms of my friends, in ski cabins on holidays, in a dormitory at uni. Later, I hid in various countries when my job sent me to oversee hotel builds around the world. I was never present in my own life. I could never look at a piano without feeling an overwhelming sadness, the kind that envelopes you and smothers you and takes you captive. So I avoided it as much as I could and allowed myself to be sent halfway across the globe, boxed and shipped out, like a punishment. My mother knew I was gay and loved me anyway. My father knew and ignored it, and when I no longer had my biggest advocate around, I allowed him to hide me away.

When Gwaine died, I didn’t know what to do. I finished managing my latest project, a hotel build in Dubai. When I got to London, I started in on Gwaine’s list. Numbers 47-56. They weren’t written for Gwaine; he wrote them for me. For the seven years before Gwaine’s death, I didn’t let a flat or own a home. I was always in another country for work and the few months a year I was back in London, I stayed in the guestroom of a friend’s flat. There was never a point in having my own place. Except Gwaine’s list told me to paint a wall in my bedroom and leave it for an entire year. It was this one thing that started chapter one of my new life. 

I quit my job, I traveled to North America, and I fell in love. I told my father I wanted to stop being his employee and start being his son. I played guitar on a street corner and performed live poetry. I told someone I wanted to spend my life with them, in one place. I stopped allowing myself to be placed in boxes around the world and forced myself to do things that I wanted to do and not because I was living someone else’s life.

I left for my trip to North America single. I invited Merlin, the tattoo artist, along since after Gwaine’s death he had become somewhat of my best mate. Of course at the time I was completely in love with him, but I didn’t think I had anything to offer him so I refused to give in to any temptation. Also of course, the best way to keep someone at arm’s length is to invite them on an international adventure. Which really means when I arrived home from North America, I had a new partner.

The knowledge that I had someone in my life must have changed something in my father. It was a slow build, but three months ago he invited us over to dinner. He struggled through the conversation and relied on my sister and her fiancé to guide us through the evening. It was another month before he accepted an invitation to dinner at our house. It was the last time I spoke to him until I read the news today. For the last year, he’s referred to Merlin as my friend or my housemate. That may never change, but at least his hotel group is no longer contributing to charities whose values include anti-gay agenda, whose values are anti-Arthur, anti-son. It’s strange how without that bucket list, my father would never have been on page six.

Tonight, all of Gwaine’s friends are going to dinner to celebrate finishing his bucket list. I only have one thing left. _47.__Do something permanent_. I cannot go to dinner until this part is done. I thought about getting a tattoo or buying a house, but those things felt fake. Not permanent enough, not genuine enough. I don’t think Gwaine would have wanted me to waste permanence on a tattoo, so instead I’m going to ask Merlin to marry me. For me, he is my permanent thing, my stability. I’ve had a plan to start a blog for a while now, but I won’t tell him it’s live until after dinner. Just in case he reads it and the surprise is ruined. 

Which leads me to the last part of this incredibly lengthy introduction. I have a new bucket list of things I want to see and do – and some that Merlin wants to see and do. It’s part-travel, part-experience, and part-life. A bit of everything. We’ll update as we scratch things off, and if for some reason we can’t finish the list, we’ll leave them for our friends to do for us.

Welcome to this crazy new journey of ours.

_Arthur Pendragon_

_14 December 2016 12.02pm_

_ETA: Merlin here. Arthur is crap at hiding his passwords. I totally ruined it. I read the blog post because I’m like magic or something and know when Arthur is doing things like secretly publishing blog posts. I yelled at him, said yes, happily ever after or something. I may have tweaked some of his new bucket list items to make them more interesting. I’m sure you can figure out which._

_14 December 2016 4.07pm_

  1. Go to a World Cup game
  2. Go to Carnival in Rio
  3. Go to Carnival in Venice
  4. Drink a German beer in Germany during Oktoberfest
  5. Be an extra in a movie _(not porn)_
  6. Visit Antarctica
  7. Visit the North Pole _(as a bonus, find Santa’s workshop)_
  8. Sail around the world
  9. Go to Wimbledon
  10. Ski in Switzerland
  11. Go to an Olympic event
  12. Go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans
  13. Celebrate St Patrick’s Day in Ireland
  14. Visit a remote island and go off the grid for two weeks, no mobile phone or computer
  15. Get married _to Merlin_
  16. Become a father _with Merlin_
  17. Buy a house _with Merlin_
  18. Grow my own garden
  19. Achieve zero waste for at least one month
  20. Write a book
  21. Visit the Grand Canyon
  22. Visit Vatican City
  23. Stay at an ice hotel
  24. Visit the Pyramids of Giza
  25. Snorkel at the Great Barrier Reef
  26. Learn to fly
  27. Fly in a hot air balloon
  28. Go to all Disney resorts, California, Florida, Paris, China
  29. Learn to play chess and pick up a game in the park
  30. Go to Ethiopia, pick and roast my own coffee beans
  31. Go to Costa Rica, pick and roast my own coffee beans
  32. Hike the Inca Trail
  33. Learn to speak French
  34. Visit a volcano
  35. Fly in a helicopter
  36. Take a culinary class
  37. Walk the Great Wall of China
  38. Live in a country where I don’t know the language for a month
  39. Win $1,000 in Las Vegas
  40. Read 500 books
  41. Eat a beignet at Café du Monde
  42. Swim under a waterfall
  43. Go surfing in Australia
  44. Go dogsledding in Alaska
  45. Create a piece of art and sell it
  46. Attend gay pride in a foreign country
  47. Go on a safari in Africa
  48. Set a world record
  49. Take an improv class (and perform in a show)
  50. Make love on all seven continents _with Merlin_
  51. Ride on the world’s tallest rollercoaster
  52. Ride on the world’s fastest rollercoaster
  53. Participate in a car race
  54. Run a marathon _without Merlin_
  55. Do 1,000 hours of volunteer work
  56. Sleep in a haunted hotel _without Merlin, he’ll stay home_
  57. Participate in a ghost hunting expedition _(see above)_
  58. Swim in the world’s largest pool
  59. Spend a week working on a farm _(have fun doing this alone)_
  60. Visit the Taj Mahal
  61. Go to Jerusalem
  62. Walk up the Statue of Liberty
  63. Visit Petra
  64. Visit the Hanging Gardens
  65. Sail on Ha Long Bay
  66. Start a non-profit
  67. Learn to ride a unicycle _(okay but why?)_
  68. Compose an original piano piece
  69. Be on the radio
  70. Win an award for my blog
  71. Win an award for a published book
  72. Ride in a submarine
  73. Learn to scuba dive
  74. Go to a vineyard in Italy and make my own wine
  75. Go in a vineyard in California and make my own wine
  76. _Let Merlin tattoo me_
  77. _Love Merlin forever_

…

**Buckets**

Post 10.4

Hi, hello, it’s Merlin again. Yes, yes, hijacking the blog. It’s fine. I really don’t think Arthur reads my posts or knows that I even write. It’s all fine.

I’m updating because officially we are marking off #66 from the list. The non-profit. My dear old father-in-law (haha, not yet, and he’ll totally never admit he’s my father-in-law, but gay marriage is legal here so jokes on him!) donated the start-up money anonymously so Arthur could do it. His sister spilled the secret because she’s an awful harpy (who reads this blog, knows I love her, and is going to name that baby after me, and who also knows Arthur doesn’t read my posts so the secret is literally still safe with me). I know a lot of my Instagram followers read this, so you lot need to shut up and stop ruining secrets. Let Arthur live in his world of unknowing. He’s happier there.

Anyway, the non-profit. Is simply called Art’s Art. Arthur wasn’t supposed to get a job for six months according to his original bucket list so he volunteered to teach kids and teenagers how to play the piano. It morphed into this amazing thing where he has a whole foundation and music studio and other teachers who all teach kids for free. Oh and I’m one of the teachers! Not for music, I’m pants at that. I mean I do have a nice singing voice, kind of folksy. Sometimes Arthur likes for me to sing while he plays. It’s such a sweet thing. 

But I’m teaching art classes at the foundation. Like I have a watercolor class for teens and a basic drawing class for the littles. I had no idea kids were so cool. The little ones always sneeze everywhere and some of the older ones have bad attitudes, but mostly they’re neat.

So I’m officially crossing that one off the list. Hooray! And now it’s back to planning this trip to safari in Africa. I swear to god I better not get eaten by a lion. 

_Merlin soon-to-be-Pendragon-but-still-Emrys_

_12 March 2017 11.48am_

…

**Buckets**

Post 33.0

When we first went to look at houses, the entire processes was daunting. It was exhausting and lead to the first real, true epic fight Merlin and I have ever had. When I was younger I made my father angry a time or two or twelve. Mostly it was deep-seeded disappointment that manifested in anger. I can remember being scared and feeling so very small whenever I thought I had made him mad. I loved him and I wanted him to love me back; I worried that if he was angry with me then the anger replaced the love. Until the first time I made Merlin so angry with me that he went silent and left the flat, I didn’t realize those same worries were still there.

It was the silence that was the most bothersome. A whole two hours where we didn’t speak. He left for a walk around our block of flats, but he’d left his mobile inside so it was actual radio silence. He came home, he apologized, I apologized, and I learned rather quickly that anger doesn’t replace love. It’s an emotion that comes and then leaves, but the other is always there underneath. 

Today we officially signed all the paperwork on our first house. I keep saying “first house” and Merlin keeps saying “only house” and I’m not sure who is right yet. Our signatures were together on the same pages. Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Pendragon. I let him tattoo my ring finger, which is probably the most uncharacteristic thing I have ever done. 

Next month we are visiting a Caribbean island. We have a small house picked out, although I think it may more closely resemble a shack. There’s running water and electricity, but no television, no computer. There is a landline which we will use only in an actual emergency. The only electronics from home we will bring is a digital camera. We’ll have our mobiles since we use those to check into our flights, but once we land, we are turning them off completely. Two weeks as off the grid as we can make it.

Our friends and family thought it odd we’d do this so close to buying our house, but this is truly the last thing on the bucket list to do before we adopt. Yes, this is the first time we are publicly announcing we are going to begin that process when we are back from our trip. After marrying Merlin, this is the most important item on my bucket list. 

Cheers, readers. Here’s to many happy years in our new house, and to fights that always end in making up.

_Arthur Pendragon_

_27 February 2018 7.02pm_

_ETA: He meant to say … and to fights that always end in glorious make-up sex. Sometimes he forgets. _

_Merlin_

_27 February 2018 7.23p_

…

**Buckets**

Post 57.4

This is the first full family portrait. Right on time to be included in obnoxious Christmas cards that no one will even read. 

On the left we have Morgana and Leon, and their four kids: Bernadette (2), and triplets Oliver, James, and George (all 6 months). Let’s take a moment and marvel that Morgana pushed three potatoes out of herself naturally. Those of you who aren’t hippy earth-people, “naturally” means without drugs. Some people have said she’s a superhero, but I think she’s clinically insane. I mean, to each their own and all that, but damn. I hope they’re done having kids unless they’re trying to populate their own small country. In which case, they’re almost there.

In the middle is Uther Pendragon himself and what is left of his hair (you still call me “my son’s close friend,” so you get all bald jokes, and yes, I know you read this blog even though you totally deny it).

On the right is me and Arthur. He’s so pretty even though he’s getting really old. And on his lap is Eliza (3) who we adopted along with her baby brother Emmet (3 months) who is asleep in my arms. Eliza sneezes on me a lot, but she’s still pretty neat. Emmet is also a potato. Sometimes he sneezes on me too.

Happy Christmas. If you normally get a Christmas card from us, sorry we ruined the surprise family photograph that Arthur is going to insist we stuff inside. I apologize in advance for how gross we look in matching blue shirts. Arthur insists.

_Merlin Pendragon_

_30 November 2018 4.41pm_

…

**The End.**


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